We Were There
by scarylolita
Summary: When Kyle books a flight to Hawaii, the last person he plans on travelling with is Eric Cartman, but that's exactly what happens. It's been eight years since they last met, but Kyle can already tell it's going to be a rocky ride and an even rockier landing. Fate has plans for these estranged friends, and so does Hawaii. Things are about to change. Slash, Kyman.
1. KB: Here we come

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**More Kyman. I dig this pairing, but I write too much of it LOL. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

Today is the same as yesterday. Nothing changes. Ever. Sometimes people get to a point where they feel nothing at all and it's worse than feeling like shit all the time. I feel like that's where I am right now. A boring job amidst a boring life. A constant and repetitive cycle that's ultimately never-ending.

I wake up, I take a shower with soap and strawberry scented shampoo, I put on a casual suit and I get ready to start the day. It's quiet in my little apartment because it's just me living here. I don't mind that. The silence doesn't bother me like it used to. I've gotten used to it. I don't like loud sounds because loud noises usually mean something bad happened. I'm no fan of tragedy.

Is this the way people feel before they commit suicide? I hope not. I don't really want to die. Maybe I just need something to live for. I guess I'm just in a slump.

"You're late," my boss says as I stroll into the office.

I wave him off, because I know he doesn't give a shit whether I'm late or not, just as long as I show up. He said that to me once a while back. I think he's fond of me. Stan also works here. Our offices are side by side but we don't talk. I've gotten used to that, too.

A co-worker greets me upon my arrival. "So, this is your last day?" he asks and Stan refuses to even spare me a glance. Like always, I pretend it doesn't bother me.

"Then vacation," I force a smile. In all honesty, I'm not looking forward to my time off. I insisted I didn't need a break, but the boss thought otherwise.

"Everyone needs a break, Broflovski," he had said. "Even people like you." People like me? I'm not sure what he meant by that. Workaholics, maybe. I do like working. I'm not sure what to do with myself when I'm at home. I just pace like some sort of lifeless zombie. I avoid my parents like the plague and Ike tries to drag me back home, but I always refuse and hide away in my apartment like some sort of social pariah.

So, what will I do? I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll go somewhere. It might be nice to get away from South Park for once in my damn life. I don't want to die without seeing a little more of the world.

Maybe I'll go to Hawaii. Kenny always spoke about Hawaii. He liked it. He said it was warm. Relaxing. It sounds nice, right? The last part is what's convincing me. I think I need to learn how to relax. At least, that's what my therapist says.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. I'm not sick. I'm not sad, or any of that. Therapy is just something I never stepped away from.

We all had to see therapists after the accident. It's because we were there when it happened. We were young, and I don't think we fully understood what we were seeing. I felt like I was in a movie when we were standing on that bridge. A particularly tragic one, at that. It was cold and it was quiet and it was dark, then it wasn't. It was like the world turned upside down. Suddenly I felt too hot and it was loud and there were bright lights, which I eventually learned were sirens.

Cartman was the one who called 911. I think I was in shock. I just stood there in disbelief, slowly realizing that we weren't in a movie and this was real life. Real life has consequences, and that day those consequences ended in someone dying.

That memory still sits heavy on my shoulders, and there's always a little voice asking me, "What would you have done different?" It makes me want to laugh and cry. God, I would have done everything differently. Then maybe we all would have walked away. Alive.

But hey, it wasn't my fault. It wasn't really anyone's fault. It was just something that happened. It was just an accident. Accidents happen. People die.

I remember my grades went down and I remember that my parents didn't scold me for it. I found that funny.

Sometimes I still think I don't understand what happened that night… but I'm done crying about it. Crying doesn't bring the dead back, and it certainly didn't fix things. Now I just feel numb.

* * *

After work, I go to the grocery store. When I get home, I make supper. Nothing fancy. I call Ike. I tell him I'm going to Hawaii and he's surprised.

"_You're going_ _alone?"_ he asks.

"Yes."

"_Why?" _

"I want to travel before I die."

"_But, Kyle, you're only twenty-six. That's so young. There's plenty of time for travel."_

"You don't know that," I say. "I could die tomorrow. I could die next week. I could die next month."

"_Jesus Christ. Don't be so morbid." _

"I'm sure there are lots of people who put things off because they think there will be plenty of time for them to experience the world, too. But then they die."

"_Kyle…" _he murmurs awkwardly. He knows exactly what I'm referring to.

I let out a breath. "It's fine, Ike. I want to do this."

"_You're sure?"_

"I'm sure."

"_Carpe diem,"_ he says.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," I reply. Once I hang up, I buy my ticket online. Tomorrow morning, I'll be out of here.

I've thought about doing this before, but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it until now. Funny, I always imagined doing this with Stan. I guess that isn't going to happen. Part of me knew it wouldn't, but still, it would have been nice. If I'm going to be honest with myself, I'll admit that I miss him. He was my best friend, after all.

* * *

I spend most of the night packing and Ike drives me to the airport after I squeeze in a few hours of sleep. I tell him it's fine, but he insists on waiting with me.

"I can't believe you're doing this," he chuckles in disbelief.

"Me neither," I admit.

"It's so unlike you," he says. "So impulsive and adventurous… What brought it on?"

"My boss said I needed a vacation, so he gave me a few weeks," I explain.

"And you decided to fly all the way to Hawaii?" he deadpans.

"Yes."

"Any particular reason you chose Hawaii?"

"Kenny liked it," I say vaguely.

"Oh," Ike nods, understanding. "Maybe you can look at this as a journey of self-discovery. Maybe you'll find yourself."

Probably not. "Maybe."

We sit in silence for a long time until I hear an unfamiliar voice call –

"Broflovski!"

Ike and I both scan the crowd of people. "Who's that?" he asks, pointing to a tall and sturdy looking brunet male walking towards us with a big grin.

"I have no idea," I mumble, even though I do. I just don't want to believe it. Fuck. What a surprise.

"Don't pretend you don't remember me," the man smirk, before adding, "Jew."

"Eric Cartman," I murmur, hiding my complete and utter shock. "How nice to see you."

"Yeah, how many years has it been?" he asks me.

"Eight," I tell him.

"Shit…" he deadpans. "That long, huh?"

"Yes, that long," I state. "You're not so fat anymore…"

"You're still short…" he pauses, glancing at Ike, "Unlike your little brother. Damn, kid. How tall are you?"

"A little over six feet," Ike says.

"Christ. You play sports?" Cartman asks him.

Ike nods. "Hockey."

"How stereotypical of you," Cartman snorts and Ike simply rolls his eyes. "You also like maple syrup?"

"Actually, yes."

"Do you think the beaver is a noble animal?" he asks.

Ike gives Cartman a dry look, choosing not to answer the last question.

"Ike," I start. "You don't need to wait with me. I'll be fine."

"You sure?" he checks and I simply nod. "All right," he says, giving me a bear hug and clapping me on the back. "Come back in one piece, okay?"

"I'll try," I chuckle.

"Nice seeing you, Cartman," he says, though I doubt he means it.

"You too," Cartman waves. I doubt he means it either. "So, Jew, where you heading?"

"Kauai."

"Are you fuckin' serious?" he laughs. "Me, too."

"Are you joking?" I ask, straight-faced and severely unimpressed.

"No, I'm seriously," he says.

"You're _seriously_?" I repeat him.

"Yeah." He doesn't quite catch my taunt.

"Great," I say sarcastically.

"So, looks like we'll be flying together," he smirks, sensing my displeasure. "What's your seat number?" I show him my plane ticket and his smirk widens. "Looks like we'll also be sitting together."

"Can't wait," I bite out. This is all too strange for words.

"Don't be so sour," he says, tossing an arm around me. "Think about it, soon you'll be relaxing on a nice beach with all kinds of hot chicks looking to party it up."

"I'm fuckin' gay," I deadpan.

He pauses before breaking out into laughter. "It's been a while, so I guess I missed the memo… Though, I'm not even surprised," he says, slapping me on the shoulder. "Man, this is too funny."

"What is?" I ask.

"Seeing you here like this. Man, maybe we'll see Butters there. I hear he moved to Kauai when we were ten."

"So that's where he went…" I mumble. "Did you stay on contact with him?"

"No," he snorts. "I haven't seen him since he moved. I wonder if he's changed at all or if he's still the same damn pussy he's always been."

"Hm."

"Christ. Too bad Stan isn't here. Then the _surviving_ circle would be complete," he says insensitively.

"I work with him," I add, choosing to ignore his second statement.

"Really? What's that homo up to these days?"

"He's not the homo. I am," I say dryly. "But Stan… He's married. He has a few kids, too."

"For real?" Cartman asks.

"Yes."

"Damn… Time sure flew," Cartman shakes his head. "Let me guess, he married Wendy?"

"Of course."

"Those two damn hippies deserve each other," he grimaces. "You guys still licking each other's assholes, or was the friendship never rekindled?"

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean… Are you guys super best pals 'n shit?"

"No… Not at all," I admit to him. "We really grew apart and it stayed that way."

Cartman nods. "I guess that happens. We all grew apart."

"Yeah…"

"How about you?" he asks. "You married yet? Buckled down with a nice guy?"

"No," I say. "Relationships never last. No one wants to deal with all my emotional baggage."

"Emotional baggage?"

"Watching a best friend die really fucks you up."

"Hm…" Cartman muses before checking his watch. "We'll be boarding soon."

"I know," I sigh, feeling anxious and desperately trying not to show it.

* * *

By the time we are on the plane, I'm nearly sweating and cursing myself for getting the window seat. The flight attendant gives me her best Pan Am smile when the plane starts shaking. "It's just turbulence," she offers, not that it's at all comforting.

"I know," I say weakly.

"First time flying?" she asks.

"No," I murmur, holding onto the armrest for dear life. I've been in an airplane before, but not in a very long time.

"He's not a fan of heights," Cartman adds. It's weird that he remembers a thing like that.

I just squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath and wait.

Hawaii, here I come… Or, should I say _we_?


	2. KB: Apologies and an unexpected arrival

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Heh Cartman is kind of OOC in this, but they grown up after all ~ thanks for reviewing :)**

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

I'm not really a fan of heights, but I don't mind being up here. At least it's an enclosed space. I have the window seat and I just watch the clouds once the turbulence stops. It's not that bad.

"Did you book your hotel?" Cartman asks probably just for the sake of easing out of the awkward silence.

"No," I admit. "I only bought my plane ticket last night. This was an impulsive decision."

"Oh," he snorts. "You're in for quite the adventure."

"Where are you staying?" I ask.

"The Grand Hyatt."

"Is it nice?" It sounds pretty fucking nice.

He nods. "Five fuckin' stars."

Naturally. "Oh."

Cartman is probably loaded. I bet he's been living it up. I'm not going to dwell on that fact, though. I'm not going to work myself up the way I used to when I was a kid. Life continues to hand Cartman lemons, and I just continue to wither away, stuck in a mundane existence. I feel like I'm having an existential crisis. Maybe I just need to stop thinking about it like that. Maybe life doesn't hand Cartman lemons. Maybe he really has worked for what he has… Hah. Doubt that. "What do you do?" I ask curiously.

He raises a brow. "What do I do?"

"Career wise," I specify.

He fetches a card from his coat pocket, handing it to me. "I'm CEO of my own company," he says proudly.

"Oh, wow," I mutter, glancing at the card.

"We make toys," he explains.

"You're a toymaker…?"

He nods and I guess it's fitting… and somehow endearing. He never did want to grow up. I guess there's nothing wrong with wanting to stay young hearted. In a way, it's endearing.

* * *

After a smooth flight, we land and make our way to baggage claim. Once we leave the baggage claim area, I prepare to bid him a farewell. "Hey, let's grab a quick bite," he says. "You can stay with me tonight."

"Why?" I ask suspiciously, feeling my eyes narrow at the strange request.

"Because," he starts, "I'm thinking you'll probably end up staying at some sleazy hotel tonight and it'll ruin your trip."

"How selfless," I say dryly, knowing he probably has some sort of ulterior motive but I'll leave things for now.

We get a taxi to the hotel and, just like Cartman said, it's really damn nice. "Wow," I murmur as we get out of the taxi.

A bellhop takes our bags as Cartman signs us in and all I can do is stare at everything I walk past. I doubt I could afford a place like this. It makes me wonder what kind of house he lives in. When we arrive to the room, it's modest and perfect. There's a window-wall with a set of doors leading out to a balcony that overlooks the water. "There's only one bed," I point out.

"We can order a cot," he suggests and I simply nod. "I'm fuckin' starving," he adds, patting his stomach. "Let's go eat."

So we go down to the first floor of the hotel and make our way to the restaurant. The dining area is nice. Very tropical looking. It's right on the water, too. Once we're seated, we pick up our menus and Cartman starts snickering.

"What?" I ask.

"Look," Cartman says, cackling, "They have a kosher menu."

"Lovely," I murmur, inwardly rolling my eyes.

And though I wish it wasn't so, I end up with a garden burger. Cartman, on the other hand, stuffs his face with a rack of barbeque pork ribs while laughing at my "less manly" option.

* * *

When we return to the room after dinner, Cartman declares, "I forgot to order a cot."

Fucking hell. "Oh…" I let out a quiet sigh.

"Do you want me to see if they have one available?" he asks.

"Unless you want to bed with me for the night," I snort. That idea holds dangerous potential.

"I think we can swing it for _one_ night," he shrugs.

"Okay," I say, immediately opening my suitcase and fetching my laptop. "I'll try and find other hotels nearby so I can head out tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry about it," he insists as be begins rifling through his own suitcase. "It's late and I'm tired. You'll keep me up if you're damn typing and clicking." He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a wife beater before turning into the bathroom.

I let out an impatient sigh, putting my laptop back in my bag before fetching my pyjama pants and an old t-shirt. I quickly undress and slip them on before Cartman reappears.

"You can go brush your teeth or whatever," he offers, lying down on the bed with a content sigh.

I nod, entering the bathroom to take care of business. I can't believe I'm about to share a bed with Eric Cartman. This is way too weird. I wonder if we'll survive the night.

"Turn the light off, will yah?" he murmurs sleepily once I leave the bathroom.

I do as he asks before slowly and cautiously crawling into bed with him. I'm trying not to feel as awkward as I do, but I can't quite help it. I try to fall asleep, but I don't feel as tired as I did minutes ago. Suddenly I feel guilty. Cartman is being so nice to me even though he has no reason to. "Cartman?" I say his name. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," he grumbles tersely, sounding tired. "What is it now?"

"Sorry I said it was your fault," I say.

He lets out a loud, irritated sigh. "Are we really going to get into this now? It didn't end well when we were kids and it probably won't end well now."

"I know," I feel myself frown. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too, I guess. You blamed me when Kinny died. You blamed me, saying I let go of Kinny's hand," Cartman starts. "Look, I said his hand slipped, but that's a lie. I denied it, but I did let go of his hand. You have a right to be angry."

"What?" I whisper, sitting up and turning the lamp on. When the room is lit, Cartman is staring at me. He doesn't look guilty, he just looks strangely melancholic.

"You heard me," he says.

"Why?" I shout, feeling my eyes grow wet.

"Kahl, listen to me when I say this because it's the fucking truth," he says sternly. "He wanted me to let go. He asked me to."

"Why?" I ask again, covering my mouth with my hands. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Kinny was a strange kid. None of us understood 'im. I don't think we even fuckin' tried." That's true enough. Kenny was quiet, but though his words were scarce, I feel like he saw everything. Oppositely, we didn't see a damn thing.

"How did it happen?" I ask, afraid to know the answer. I lower my hands and take a breath, trying to prepare myself for what I'm about to hear.

Cartman lets out a sigh, shaking his head as if he's trying to shake the memory to the surface. "He was standing on the railing of that suspension bridge being a show off and you warned him to get down. You told him he'd fall. He just laughed, and so did I, but then he did. He lost his footing. We all saw it coming. I acted quickly. I grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up, but I wasn't as strong as I would have liked to think I was. No kids are…" he pauses. "Kinny probably knew this. He looked up at me and mouthed _let go_. Right then, I knew it would be okay. So I let go, without even hesitating. I surprised myself that day. I knew I was capable of murder, but letting a friend fall to their death… That was something I didn't know I could do until then."

"Oh, God…" I swallow a sob. "I remember him screaming as he fell…"

"I know," Cartman murmurs, shaking his head. "He was a crazy fucker."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" I ask in a wet voice.

"Then they'd just say I killed him," he shrugs. "I mean, that's exactly what it would have looked like."

I wipe my eyes, trying to calm myself down. "I suppose," I admit tartly.

"Just turn the damn lights off and go the fuck to sleep," he mutters. "We can talk about this in the morning if you feel the need."

"Fine," I whisper, reaching towards the nightstand again and turning off the lamp. It's dark again and I'm having an even harder time trying to sleep now that I know what really happened.

Was Kenny unhappy? Did we do that to him? I don't know if I can let this go. It isn't going to end here. When tomorrow comes, I'll be asking questions.

* * *

When I wake up, I am being pressed into something sturdy. Wait… Oh, Jesus Christ. As I begin to gain awareness, I realize the only possible answer – Cartman and I are spooning. God dammit. I lift his arm off of me and squirm out of his hold, quietly getting out of bed. Cartman shifts a moment later, opening his eyes and looking dazed.

"Good morning," I say.

He grunts some nonsense response before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes again. "What time is it?" he asks, voice laced in fatigue.

I glance at the clock before telling him, "It's almost seven."

"Christ, Jew," he groans, sitting up. "Why are you up? Being awake at this time is unnatural."

"When you work a nine to five job like I do, it becomes perfectly natural to wake up early," I insist.

"Aren't you even a little jetlagged?"

I just shrug. I'm not going to tell him that he woke me up because he wanted to fucking cuddle. This is the sickest kind of joke. "You can go back to sleep," I tell him. "I'm probably going to get dressed and go explore the area a bit. Maybe there's a nearby tourist shop where I can get a map of the island."

He mumbles something indiscriminate before lying back down. I make my way to the bathroom, shaking my head. I can't believe I shared a bed with Eric Cartman and both of us survived the night. I guess people really do change with age. In some ways, at least.

I grab a towel in the lavish hotel bathroom and set it on the counter before turning the shower taps on. As I wait for the water to get hot, I undress. In the mirror, my reflection looks tired. I wonder if I'll get homesick. Maybe I already am homesick. I've never really been away from South Park for more than a day, but I feel like I need to do this. Maybe it'll fill the gap in my life… or maybe I'm just being hopeful.

As I step into the shower, the water feels nice and I take my time. It's always a pain washing my hair because there's so much of it. I've considered chopping it all off, but I'm sure I'd regret it to an unexplainable extent so I never go through with that plan.

Once I'm done, I hop out and dry off before putting on a pair of boxer shorts. I open the door a crack and see that Cartman is still sleeping, even with the sun shining through the window and on his face. I guess he's the kind of guy who can sleep anywhere and anytime. I was never like that, though I envy people who are.

I reach for my bag, getting out sun screen. I burn really badly. I think it's because I'm so pale. I go through sunscreen like nobody's business during the summertime, which sucks. I really hate the feel of this stuff. Yuck.

I get dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt, a pair of quarter length jeans, sandals and a sun hat before quietly exiting the hotel room. I'm not really sure where I'm going, so here's to hoping I won't get lost.

I'm halfway out of the lobby when something catches my eye – or, should I say someone.

I nearly come face to face with the one person I never thought I'd see all the way in Hawaii. I think Fate must be laughing in my face right about now because it's none other than…

Stan fucking Marsh.

It gives me a sick sort of feeling in my stomach and I spin around almost violently, desperate to remain unseen. I go straight back to Cartman's hotel room without so much as a second thought to my previous plan to go exploring.

I close the door behind me and head for the balcony, where I seat on a patio set to think. What the hell is Stan doing here? And why is he here now? Why did he have to be here while I'm here? First Cartman and now Stan. This is like some cruel game of fate.

I feel like if he sees me, I'll have to say something. Even though we haven't spoken in years, I feel like ignoring him would only make things even worse between us. It would be like unspoken bond we've had since childhood would be irreparably broken. I don't know how I'd deal with a thing like that.

A few minutes later, the balcony door slides open and Cartman is squinting down at me. "I thought you left."

"I did…" I pause, "but then I came back."

He reaches forward and pulls my hat over my face. "You look like a little fuckin' farmer boy."

"Shut up," I mutter.

"So, why'd you come back?" he asks, voice laced in fatigue as he rubs a hand down his tired face.

"I saw something unpleasant," I murmur vaguely.

"Oh, yeah? And what was that?"

"Stan," I reveal.

"What?" he looks taken aback, and slightly more awake. "Are you seriously?"

"Yeah… Isn't that fucking weird?" I frown.

"I don't believe you," he snorts, taking a seat on the chair on the opposite side of the balcony.

I wave a dismissive hand. "I know what I saw."

"Sure, you do."

I roll my eyes.

"Fuck Stan," Cartman says, shrugging. "Don't let him ruin your fun."

"I'm not."

"Well, you _did_ run away when you saw him... you're a little pussy."

"That was…" I trail off. What exactly was it? Was it fear?

Cartman just smirks.

"Okay," I stand up. "I'm leaving now."

"A'right."

"Oh," I pause, standing in the doorway, "Do you have any hotel recommendations?"

"For what?"

"Well, I'll need to find a place to stay."

Cartman shrugs. "Look," he starts, "I've been thinking it over… Why don't you just stay here?"

"In this hotel?" I ask.

He nods. "We can share this room. It's no big deal. It's not like a vacation is all about the hotel. The best part is what you'll be doing when you leave it each morning. Besides, you're probably not rolling in the riches and good hotels are expensive."

"I don't need –" I start, only to be interrupted.

"It's not pity," he cuts me off. "It's a genuine offer."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch – take it or leave it."

"I'll think about it," I murmur before going back keep getting weirder and weirder. Things are going a little too smooth for my liking.

* * *

I do spend much of the day exploring the surrounding area. I got lost a couple times and the map was confusing, but my stupid smart phone saved the day Now I'm on my way back to the hotel. Next time I go out, I should remember to bring my camera.

Cartman isn't in the hotel room when I return. I take off my dumb but necessary sun hat before going back downstairs. I find him in the bar, chugging a tall mug of beer. "Jew," he greets me when I sit down next to him.

"I'll stay," I tell him. He only nods in response and we're quiet for a few minutes until I decide to speak up. "Why do you come to Hawaii?" I ask. "You mentioned that you come here frequently."

Cartman nods again, but doesn't say a word.

"Is it because of Kenny?" I question.

He lets out a sigh, followed by a laugh. "Maybe, in a way, it is."

"Me, too," I admit. "I put it off for a long time, but it's something I thought a lot about. I always imagined I'd end up here with Stan and we'd be best friends and everything would be unicorns and fucking rainbows… but that's so not how it happened."

"Well," Cartman chuckles. "Stan _is_ here, right?"

"Just not in the way I thought he'd be," I laugh. Instead, Cartman is here in the way I used to hope Stan would be. However, I'm not going to mention that. I think it would make things uncomfortable and awkward. So instead, I just say, "It's all very strange."

"It's the weirdest coincidence," he nods, "Us all being here in the same place at the same time."

"And with you being so damn civil," I note. Or at least, as civil as Eric Cartman can be. "Maybe this place is magical," I joke, though I feel like it really could be. How else would we all end up in the same place at the same time? Maybe this is the universe trying to tell us to fix things. Or, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm being stupid and naïve again. Maybe this place is just a magnet for fuck ups and lonely people.

"If so, then we better watch out," Cartman snorts, ordering me a mai tai. "I have a feeling that we're a little too sober for this conversation," he says.

"Fair enough," I smile as a drink is placed in front of me.

"Do you still get sick a lot?" he asks offhandedly.

"What?"

"I remember you used to get sick a lot," he says.

"I suppose so," I shrug. I never really thought of it until now.

"Stan used to think you were faking it."

"Nah," I shake my head. "I'm diabetic. On top of that, I have a weak immune system."

"That's why I had to give you a kidney," he snorts.

"Right," I chuckle, recalling all the drama that surrounded that trip to the hospital. That was so fucking retarded. "I was dying and you still wouldn't give it up…"

"Heh, good times," he smirks at the mention of that memory. "You okay now?"

"As okay as I can be," I say. "I still get sick sometimes, but I try to take care of myself."

"S'good."

We spend the next couple hours talking about the old days – the things I try not to think about when I'm alone. However, it feels kind of nice to be able to talk about it all once again. I feel like I've been dying to relive some of the good times. We don't mention Kenny's death again. I guess we don't need to. The truth came out and we've said sorry. There's nothing left to say now.

"Should we call it a night?" Cartman asks, staring down at the time on his phone.

I pull out my own phone and read the time. It's half past midnight.

"Probably a good idea," I say. "I also don't think I need to drink anymore." Drunken Kyle is a slut and we don't need him showing up.

"All right," he snorts, getting up. "You a lightweight or something?"

The question makes me chuckle. I spent my college years drinking with the best of 'em so I say, "Not at all."

Side by side we leave the bar and enter the hotel lobby, where I am faced with yet another unpleasant face. This is twice in one day. "Oh, my fucking God," I sigh miserably.

"What is it?" Cartman asks.

"Stan," I whisper. "That's Stan."

"Oh, my fucking God," he repeats me, laughing in disbelief before shouting, "AY, MARSH!"

"Don't call him over here!" I hiss, feeling panicked.

"Too late."

Stan turns around and approaches Cartman and me while wearing a strange expression. "Eric Cartman?" he asks, visibly surprised.

"Stan Marsh," Cartman smirks.

"Wow," he chuckles, wide eyed. "How long has it been?"

"Pretty damn long."

Stan shakes his head in disbelief before noticing me. "Oh," he starts. "Hey, Kyle. You're here, too?"

And those are the first words he chooses to say to me. How nonchalant. "Hi," I say, trying not to sound as bitter as I feel.

"Vacationing?" Cartman asks knowingly.

"Yeah," he nods. "Just got here this morning."

"You here alone?"

"Wendy's bringing the kids in. We rented a car and have been doing a bit of exploring," Stan says.

"Hey, that's a good idea," Cartman says to me. "We should rent a car."

I simply nod and Stan raises an eyebrow. "What? You guys are here together?" he asks slowly, as if the possibility is too astounding to be at all probable.

"Yeah, it just kind of happened that way," Cartman says, acting boisterous and jovial.

Stan nods slowly, as if the thought is strange. I suppose it is. "Well, there's Wendy and the kids. I should get going," he says good-naturedly, "but it was great seeing you guys. We should catch up later on."

"Sounds good," Cartman smirks, slapping Stan on the shoulder before he leaves. I watch him walk over to his family, taking his daughter's hand while Wendy holds a baby in her arms. What a fucking picture perfect scene.

"Tsk," I click my tongue after they're gone.

"Did you see that?" Cartman asks, chuckling.

"Did I see the way he pretended that everything was totally fine and we weren't all assholes to each other last time we spoke? Yes." I don't bother pointing out that Cartman was doing the same thing.

He shakes his head, still laughing. "What a fuckin' guy. He's always been that way. If something is broken, he'll pretend it's not."

While some things do change, some don't. I'm beginning to learn that. It isn't just Stan, but Cartman as well. However, I feel like I am seeing him in a new light. I'm beginning to think there really might be something special about this damn place.

* * *

We make our way back up to our hotel room and we don't mention Stan for the rest of the night. "We should go to the beach tomorrow," Cartman suggests offhandedly.

"Okay," I say. I haven't been swimming in at least ten years, but I think swimming is like bike riding – one of those things you don't really forget how to do. I guess we'll see.


	3. KB: At the beach

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing :) enjoy~ **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

I was right. I still know how to swim. Before getting wet, I practically bathed in waterproof sunscreen. I can't really afford to take a risk. If I burn, it'll be bad. Cartman watched me struggle to coat my back, having a good chuckle before offering me a hand. I declined because how awkward would that have been?

It's noon now and the beach is crowded, to say the least. After getting out of the water, I sit under an umbrella and Cartman laughs once he returns from getting drinks. "Fag," he taunts, handing me a bottle of water.

"Thanks," I reply, "but not for the insult…"

He just smirks, taking a seat next to me. "How do you like it here?" he asks, digging out his camera.

"It's beautiful," I say. "I think it's the opposite of South Park. It's warm… there are so many people, and it's certainly a different kind of exciting than we were used to as kids."

"I know," he nods, aiming the camera at me. "Those are all reasons why I like this damn place so much. South Park is a hellhole."

"Yeah, but it's home," I say before making a ridiculous face for the camera.

Cartman laughs, glancing down at the screen. "I moved to Denver. I don't really go back to South Park unless I have to."

"Really?" I ask. "What about your mom?"

"She died last year…" he says solemnly.

I cover my mouth with a hand. "I'm really sorry," I muffle.

"Nah, just fuckin' with yah," he laughs loudly. "She's fine. I visit her a couple times a month."

"God dammit," I punch him in the shoulder. "You're such an ass."

He continues to laugh, beginning to say something but it doesn't quite register because my line of vision trails away from him. At the bar behind Cartman, there is a blond male talking to a middle aged bartender. Of course, I can't hear what they're saying, but there is something about the man that is unsettling familiar. He's wearing an orange t-shirt, cargo shorts and flip-flops. He has very tanned skin, his hair is shaggy blond and his eyes are blue. He looks exactly the way I imagine Kenny would have looked if he lived to be twenty-six. I also feel like I've seen him before. Perhaps in a dream. What a creepy and curious thought.

"Kahl, are you listening to me?" Cartman snaps his fingers in front of my face.

I let out a sigh, "Sorry. I got distracted."

"What is it, Jew?" he asks.

"I thought I saw…" I trail off, realizing how fucking crazy and desperate I would sound. "Never mind," I shake my head. "It was nothing."

Cartman raises an eyebrow, but doesn't pry.

Kenny is dead. Dead and gone forever. Just because his body was never found, it doesn't mean he's still alive. There is no way he survived that fall. He's fucking dead. I saw it happen and I can't convince myself that every blond man could be him.

I glance back towards where the Kenny-looking guy was standing, but he's no longer there. "I need to piss," I announce, standing up. "I'll be right back." A total lie, but oh well. It's not like Cartman hasn't lied before.

I run off to the bar and approach the bartender. "Hi," I greet.

"Hello, sweetie, what can I getcha?" she asks.

"Um, I actually have a strange question," I say timidly, playing shy.

"Okay, shoot," she smiles in a comforting sort of way, "I'll try my best to help."

"A few minutes ago, you were talking to a blond man –"

"Ah, yes, that boy," she nods. "He comes here with his friend sometimes… I think they're _special _friends, if you know what I mean. They live nearby."

"Oh," I chuckle. "Do you know their names?"

She taps her chin with her finger thoughtfully. "You know what, honey? I'm horrible with names. They've told me a few times and I feel bad I can never remember… but I want to say it their names are… Damn. I want to say Ben is one of them?"

"Ben," I repeat. It's kind of close to Ken?

"Nice boys," she says somewhat offhandedly as she wipes the bar counter.

"Okay, thank you," I smile.

"No problem, honey."

I decide to do a walk around in case Cartman saw me going towards the bar. I'll tell him I was just asking for directions or something if he wonders. Jesus Christ. If Cartman knew what I was doing, he'd put a leash on me. He'd probably fucking like it… He was always the most sadistic fuck when it came to me. So creepy I could just –

And before I can even finish my thought, I'm bumping into someone. I really need to start paying more attention to my surroundings. "Shit," I hiss to myself as I collide with the sandy ground.

"Oh, crap," the other figure says.

When I look up, I see that it's the blond guy I was just asking about. The world must be on my side today. He helps me up and apologizes. "Sorry about that," he chuckles. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Oh, no, it's my fault," I insist, brushing sand off my skin. "Do I know you?" I ask, unable to help myself. If I don't ask, I'll regret it and wonder for the rest of my life.

"I don't think so, man," he says. "I've lived here for most of my life. You're a tourist, right?"

I nod, feeling somewhat stupid for thinking a random stranger could be my dead friend.

"Anyway, have a nice vacation, dude – sorry for bumping into you like that."

"Thanks," I say as we part ways.

I scan the crowds of people until I spot the umbrella Cartman is sitting near. "I'm back," I announce when I reach him.

"What took you so damn long?" Cartman asks once I sit under the umbrella. "Did you take a shit?"

"No, dick," I snap. "I had to ask for directions and then there was a long line."

He cackles.

* * *

Around two we make our way back to the hotel. As soon as we return, I decide to take a nap. "Why the hell are you going back to bed?" Cartman asks, outraged.

"If I do too much in one day, I get tired," I tell him, lying down on the bed. It's a bit of a fib, but I am pretty damn tired lately… I'm not sure why.

"Well, that's fucking gay," he says. "All we did was sit around on the beach."

"It was emotionally tiring."

"How?" he snorts.

"It just was," I mumble.

"Well, suit yourself, Jew. I'm going to shower, change and then eat. I'll also look into renting a car so we don't need to taxi."

"Okay."

"Don't sleep too long. You'll waste the rest of the day."

"I won't."

When he finally stops talking, I allow myself to relax a bit. Most people have to try and blank their minds before they go to bed, but I do the opposite. All kinds of thoughts fill my mind when I'm trying to sleep, and I like it that way. It's distracting in different ways, and before I know it, I'm waking up.

* * *

"Kahl," I hear. "Kaaahl, it's 6PM already."

I open my bleary eyes. "Oh," is all I say.

"Damn, you really were tired," he laughs.

"I told you I was." I sit up, feeling a little groggy. "Though, I didn't expect to sleep for that long," I admit.

"Hungry?" he asks.

"A bit."

"Room service?" he offers.

I shrug. "Sure."

* * *

After dinner, we make our way to the bar yet again. Only, this time Stan is here. "Hey, look who it is," Cartman grins as he sidles up to where Stan is seated.

"Hello," Stan offers a reserved and overly polite smile after setting his beer bottle down.

"Where's the Missus?"

"Wendy is putting the baby to sleep. She'll be down in a few."

"Ditching the kids?"

"Well, she'll have the baby monitor, so if anything happens we're only down here," he says. "Have a seat, though. We can all catch up."

Cartman grabs a chair next to Stan and I grab the chair next to Cartman, feeling somewhat uncomfortable being around Stan. Well, being around him and conversing.

"Kahl tells me you haven't kept in touch," Cartman smiles, already starting to stir shit up.

Stan doesn't say anything and neither do I.

"Oops," Cartman laughs, "it appears that I've made things awkward."

"I don't feel awkward," I say calmly, though I totally do. "We aren't children anymore. I'm sure we're all more than capable of handling a conversation."

"Right," Stan nods.

I'm definitely going to need a drink. As if he's reading my mind, Cartman orders me a gin and tonic, while ordering himself something much more "manly." Whisky.

"It's weird you two have kept in touch," Stan notes. "You used to hate each other."

"Hate is a strong word," I say, not going out of my way to mention that Cartman and I haven't kept in touch. We simply met at the hands of some strange coincidence. I'll let him think what he wants, though.

"You said it enough," he murmurs.

"I was a child…" I start. "I didn't know how to handle my anger."

"Do you now?" he asks.

"Better," I admit, which is true. I'm not such a hot head.

A few minutes later, Wendy arrives. "Eric, Kyle!" she smiles, "Stan told me you two were here, but I hardly believed it."

"Well, it's true," Cartman says.

"The kids asleep?" Stan asks her.

She nods, "I have the baby monitor in case they wake up."

Blah, blah, blah. The night continues in a similar rhythm. Stan and Wendy talk about their kids a lot. We don't talk about anything of utmost importance, but after we decide to call it a night, Stan asks if he can have a word with me.

"I'll meet you in our room?" Cartman asks.

"Yeah," I nod.

"Stan?" Wendy questions.

"I want to say something to Kyle," he tells her. "Go on without me, I'll be up in a few minutes."

"All right," she relents with a smile. "Nice seeing you, Kyle."

"You too, Wendy," I say, though it's total bullshit. We see each other all the damn time. I see Stan at work, and I see Wendy at the fucking grocery store most weekends. We just haven't spoken until tonight.

When Cartman and Wendy leave, Stan gives me a strange look. "So, you're sharing a hotel room with Cartman?"

"Yes."

"He's being nice to you?" he asks and I want to laugh in his face because it's a little too late for him to start caring.

"As nice as Cartman can be."

"Strange," he chuckles. "The last I remember, you both fought too much to survive doing a thing like that."

"Times change and so do people," I shrug.

"I'll say…" he murmurs his agreement.

"Anyway, what did you want?" I ask, crossing my arms.

He lets out a sigh, glancing off to the side. "I want us to move on from what happened in the past."

I let out a laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"Look, we haven't spoken in a long time. For years you wouldn't even spare me a glance," I start. "We can't just pick up where we left off as kids. We're twenty-six years old, for fuck's sake."

"So, what?" Stan asks. "You want to keep dwelling on something stupid that happened when we were children."

"So Kenny's death was stupid?"

"Not that!" he hisses. "The fighting that followed his death!"

"Ugh!" I seethe, throwing my hands up in frustration. "Look," I start. "Let's save this conversation for another night," I say. "Preferably one where we haven't been drinking."

Stan is a bit of an insensitive dick when he drinks. "Fine," he mumbles and we both part ways.

* * *

When I arrive back to the hotel room I'm sharing with Cartman, he questions me right away. "What did Stan want?"

"He wanted to ignore the fight we had and act like it never happened," I say bitterly.

"That's retarded," Cartman snorts. "Why not just apologize?"

"I don't fucking know," I mumble as he enters the bathroom. Jesus Christ.

I change into my nightclothes while Cartman does his business. "Cartman?" I call.

"Hm?" he yells back.

"You're going to think I'm fucking mental," I start, "but I thought I saw Kenny today."

I hear him laughing before he opens the door. "What? Was it some random ass blond guy?" he asks, giving me a look of amusement.

"Basically," I admit. "I just thought there was something really familiar about him…"

"Familiar?"

"Yeah… I couldn't quite place it. Anyway, I ended up bumping into him on my way to find the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "I asked him if I knew him, but he said it wasn't likely."

"Then I guess that's that," Cartman shrugs.

"Oh, well," I dismiss, not wanting to think too hard about it. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth before getting into bed… with Cartman. It's still so fucking weird to say. "Cartman?" I ask into the dark room.

"Mm?" he mumbles.

"Did you go to university or college?"

"Yeah."

"What did you study?"

"Business," he says and that doesn't surprise me. It took him far.

"Oh."

"Yeah, what did _you_ study?" he asks.

"How did you know I even went to university?"

"Because you're smart and you like studying," he explains.

"Right," I chuckle. "I did a double major… math and English. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, but I didn't end up really putting either of my majors to use."

"What do you do now?"

"I work in an office… we're a plastics company. I'm an account manager."

"Lame," Cartman snorts.

"Very," I agree.

"Man, I miss university," he sighs. "Some of the best years of my life."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I was in a fraternity."

"Somehow, I can see it," I tell him, leaving out my risqué past with frat boys for the moment. I had sex with at least twenty of them back in university. I was a nasty little bastard. Sticking it up a guy's ass was like an initiation right. I just happened to be a very willing participant who enjoyed being on the receiving end.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah, fraternity kids are usually total assholes. You're a bit of an ass."

"Gee, thanks," he snorts. "I guess it's true."

"Called it."

"Well, what were you like in university?" he asks.

"I was a little slut," I choose to admit.

"What?" he laughs boisterously. "Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm serious," I say.

"Are we talking like… gang bangs?"

"That and so much more," I sigh, recalling those days. Well, I'm only twenty-six. It wasn't that long ago. "I can't even count how many men I've slept with."

"Wow," he laughs some more. "This is like… really shocking. It's the type of thing I would've expected from Kinny, were he still alive."

I roll my eyes, though he can't see it. "I was really manipulative."

"So, you'd get naked and you'd get what you want?"

"Basically."

"Christ," he snorts. "I never pegged you for that type. If Kinny was still alive, he'd so be that kind of guy."

"I was never as pure as everyone liked to think I was," I admit.

"I always knew that," he chuckles, "but you're still better than the rest of us were."

"I spent summer after my first year so drunk I don't even remember most of it."

"Shit," Cartman laughs. "I can't believe it…"

"Don't tell anyone that," I warn him.

"Sure, Kahl."

"I'm serious."

"Don't worry," I feel him nudge my side. "What happens in Hawaii stays in Hawaii."

"Great…" I say, though not quite convinced.

"Hey, remember all the times in our childhood when I called you Jew-slut?"

"Yes," I grit out.

"Maybe I'm like a prophet," he snickers, "because, by the sounds of it, you became a bit of a Jew-slut."

"Okay, shut the fuck up."

"God damn," he starts. "How does shit like that even happen? Did you just round up some willing participants and say the night's game was a gang bang?"

"Hardly! I'd get good and drunk. Alcohol always loosens me up…"

"Is that why you're careful about how much you drink?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"All right, then I'll stop trying to get you drunk," he starts laughing again.

"Jesus Christ," I mumble.

"Or, maybe I should try harder."

I feel my face heat up at that. "What –"

"Kidding kidding," he adds quickly before I can get riled up.

I let out an irritated sigh.

"Do you miss it at all?" he asks after sobering.

"Miss what?"

"The fucking," he says.

"Not especially," I admit.

"When is the last time you were with someone?"

"Uh," I try to think. "It's been a few months." I usually just get drunk at a bar and go home with whoever, in my incoherent state, looks good enough to sleep with.

"Nothing wrong with expression your sexuality, Kahl," he says, sugary sweet and probably _somewhat_ mockingly.

"Right," I laugh. "It sounds weird coming from you."

"Why's that?"

"Because it's somewhat reassuring."

"Hey, I can be a nice guy."

"Riiiight," I snort.

"I'm seriously!" he insists.

I feel myself smile. Who knew Cartman of all people would ever end up making me feel good about myself. Especially after years of making me feel like shit about myself. "When I woke up this morning, we were spooning," I say, feeling comfortable enough to bring it up.

Cartman chuckles. "Yeah, I like holding things in my sleep," he admits. "I'm not used to sharing a bed with another person. Usually I have an extra pillow, but you're sleeping on it… so I guess I reached for you instead." That's… oddly cute.

"Speaking of… Did I do anything weird in my sleep?" I ask. I'm always paranoid about that sort of thing. What if I talk and I end up saying something completely retarded?

"Nah," he shrugs. "You just mumbled a bit."

"What did I say?" I ask.

"Nothin' legible." Well, that's good. I'd die if I ended up saying something dumb. I bet Cartman would've held it over me. "You toss around a lot," he adds.

I wonder, "Do I?"

"Yeah."

"Is it annoying?"

"Not really," he says. "I'm just not used to it."

"Oh…"

I think Kenny's death changed Cartman a lot. I can see it. It's in the way he talks, the way he acts... He's somehow softer. Sure, he's still an ass, but it's nothing compared to the way he used to be. I wonder if he's lived with the blame. I wonder if he was influenced by the fact that I repeatedly told him it was his fault Kenny is gone. Nonetheless, I'm glad this trip has provided me with the chance to make things right.

After a minute's pause –

"Goodnight, Kahl."

"Yeah… Goodnight, Cartman."


	4. KB: Out of control

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

We spend the following day at the beach and I'm once again putting on my hourly coat of sunscreen just to be safe. Cartman is laughing as he watches. He finds it funny. "I can't afford to get sunburnt," I tell him for the second time.

"You're too careful," he says.

"No such thing," I insist as I struggle to get my back.

"Want help?" he offers. "You look like you're gonna pull your arm out of its socket."

This time, I relent. "Fine, fine," I say, handing him the bottle and turning around. A moment later, I feel his hands and they feel kind of good – not that I'd ever express that out loud.

"There we go," he says before giving me a hard slap on the center of my back.

"Ow," I whine, eliciting a chuckle from Cartman. I turn around and give him a sour look before noticing the familiar figure standing behind him. "Look," I say quietly.

"Look at what?" Cartman asks, glancing to and fro.

"Behind you," I whisper.

He turns around and asks, "Who am I supposed to be looking at?"

"The blond guy."

"Oh," he says, spotting the man. "What about him?"

"Doesn't he look familiar to you?" I ask.

"Not really."

"It's the man I saw the other day… but I _know_ I've seen him before that!" I insist. "There's something about him…"

Cartman snorts back a laugh. "All right, Kahl. Sure." He doesn't believe me.

"I'm serious," I say. "What if that's Kenny?"

He glances over at the blond Kenny-looking guy. "He looks happy," he points out as we both watch him laughing and smiling as he talks to the bartender.

"Yeah," I murmur. "He does."

"Kahl, who the hell knows if that is Kenny," Cartman says, turning to me. "We haven't seen him since we were ten. And in case you don't remember, that was when he _died_."

"I have a really strange feeling," I tell him. "I know it sounds stupid and I can't explain it, but I know I've seen him before…"

Cartman just shakes his head at me. Soon, the Kenny-like figure is no longer in sight. I start to move away, but Cartman stops me. "Look," he says, grabbing my arm tightly. "I know you like to fix things... but some things shouldn't be fixed."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask bitterly.

"Did you see him?" he asks. "He looked fucking happy. So, let's say hypothetically that you are right, and that is Kenny… I've never seen him look that happy when we were kids. If he is alive, then this is probably why. He wanted an easy escape. He didn't want to be found. It would be easy if we all just assumed he was dead. I mean… we saw him fall. We all saw him fall and we thought we saw him die, too, but there wasn't a body. Nonetheless, the Kenny we knew might not be around anymore. So, maybe, in a way, he did die, Kahl."

He finally lets go of my arm. I flop into a beach chair and let out a sigh, burying my face in my hands. "God," I murmur, "this is so fucking retarded." But what he's saying makes sense. I can't see any other reason why Kenny would have wanted to escape. He wanted a new life…

"We shouldn't blame ourselves," Cartman continues. "We were good friends…" he pauses. "Well, you guys were. For the most part."

"For the most part…" I repeat.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "I mean, we were young. We were kids and everyone knows how fucking stupid and selfish kids can be. It's like they can't really hold the capacity to be selfless."

"They can, though," I say. "They begin to develop that empathy when they're around three or four years old."

"But kids are cruel. They tend not to put it to use."

"I guess," I laugh. "We were all a bunch of little assholes."

"You were the most compassionate."

"Was I?" I ask, wondering if it's really true.

"I think so."

"Thanks," I mumble.

"That probably hasn't changed."

"Maybe."

"From what I see, I think it's safe to assume."

I just smile. "All right."

* * *

"Do you think we'll see Stan again?" I wonder as we head back to the hotel in the rented car.

"Who knows?" Cartman shrugs.

"Yeah…"

"Do you want to?" he asks.

"I'm not sure," I say. "I'd like to fix things, but… I guess I just want him to apologize. We can't just pretend we weren't all assholes to each other, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

We pull into the lot and park before making our way into the hotel lobby. "I still feel kind of bad bumming off you like this," I admit.

"Don't," he says. "I'm loaded. You're not. Let someone take care of you once in a while. I have money to spare. You should be happy to save a few bucks, Jew."

I just roll my eyes.

"Wanna get drinks later?" he asks as we make our way back up to our hotel room.

"Sure," I agree, "but I want to take a shower first."

Once we're back in our room, I grab a change of clothing and enter the bathroom. I turn the taps on and peel off my swim shorts and t-shirt. I watch myself in the mirror as I wait for the water to get warm. I've never been all that critical of the way I look, even after being voted ugliest kid in my class. I got over it. I'm all right with the way I look and in the end, isn't that what matters? Sure, my hair is curly and my nose is a bit big, but those aren't necessarily bad things. I wonder if Cartman would disagree. Hah… Not that it matters whatsoever.

I step into the shower and begin to wash off. When I'm eventually done the tiresome task of rinsing my hair, I turn the taps off and open the glass door. "Oh, shit!" I squeal as I spot Cartman a few feet away. He's washing his hands in the sink like it's no big deal.

Once he's done, he turns around. "Nice dick, firecrotch," he laughs.

I hold out my hand expectantly, refusing to act like a shy teenager.

"So, uh…" he pauses before throwing me a towel. "You were taking too long and I had to piss."

"Oh," I say distastefully, catching the towel and wrapping it around my waist. "How'd you get in here?"

He holds up a fine-toothed comb and says, "This."

"Oh," I repeat, crossing my arms.

He offers me a lewd smirk before turning around and leaving me in the room. How embarrassing. I hurry to dry myself off before throwing on a cotton shirt and some khakis.

Once modest and fresh-faced, I open the door. Cartman is playing around with his phone, but he pockets it once he spots me. "So," he grins, "We ready to head down?"

"I suppose so," I sigh; feigning disinterest in a light attempt to smooth over what would probably be a very awkward conversation.

* * *

Cartman sips on a beer while I order something a little heavier. "Rum and coke for me, please," I tell the bartender.

"Starting early?" Cartman snickers.

I just smile as my drink is placed in front of me. I down it with ease as I listen to Cartman talk about unimportant things.

"Christ, you made that disappear quickly," he notes as I order my second drink.

If I keep it up, I think we're both going to be in for an interesting night… However, I won't say that. I'll leave it a surprise. Hey, I can afford to let loose once in a while. I'm supposed to be on vacation, after all. Isn't that right?

"Look at the little ginger go," he snorts. "You're a surprisingly good drinker for such a little guy."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," I tell him.

"You're out of control," he laughs.

"Not yet," I wink.

* * *

And it's happened. A few drinks too many and here I am: letting Cartman shove me up against the wall in our hotel room. He has a tight grip on my waist as our tongues tangle.

"Fuck me," I breathe once we break apart, "I know you want to."

"We're seriously gonna do this," he murmurs, as if he can't believe it.

"Don't tell me you're gonna back out now?" I ask challengingly. I step away from him and unzip my bag, grabbing the necessary supplies.

"Hell no."

With drunkenly frantic movements, I take off the clothing I had just put on mere hours ago.

"Someone's eager," Cartman smirks as he unzips his jeans, letting them fall mid-thigh.

"I haven't been fucked in months," I admit lowly, stark nude and ready for action.

"Are you… ball-famished?" he asks with humour and I just chuckle before grabbing his crotch. "You're good with your hands," he comments.

"I know," I smirk playfully as I feel him grow hard. With a sudden surge of aggression, Cartman takes control. He flips me over so my stomach is pressed against the mattress and pries me open with wet fingers. "Ah…" I hiss into the bed sheets at the distantly familiar pleasure.

"I haven't fucked many guys," he admits.

"You're doing just fine," I tell him. "Lie down," I instruct once the fingers are removed. He does and I begin to giggle as I lower myself onto his lap because it's all too weird. The alcohol is making it seem like a surreal experience.

"What's so funny?" he asks, looking up at me.

"Nothing, nothing," I say, relaxing myself before starting to bounce up and down. To be honest, one of my worst habits is laughing a lot during sex. It's hard to keep a straight face when something is being shoved up your ass. At first, laughing was to cover up the pain – now it's just a habit.

"Oddball," he says in good humour.

I just wiggle my eyebrows. He hooks his arm around me and changes our positioning, flipping me onto my back so I'm now the one looking up at him. "Hey, when did you lose your virginity?" I wonder aloud as he rails me.

"Uh... like in ninth grade to some random bitch at a party," he pants.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, why? When'd you lose yours?" he asks.

"Tenth grade."

"To a dude?"

"Of course," I breathe. "This is a no-girls zone."

"Oh," he chuckles. "Anyone I know?"

"Hmmm," I snicker. "Maaaaybe…"

"Come on, who?" his pace quickens.

"Ah… fuck that feels good…" I moan.

He bends down so our faces are mere inches apart. "Tell me," he demands.

I let out a string of laughs at how seriously he's taking it. "Guess!"

"Clyde Donovan?"

"Nah, he's never been that fond of me."

"Stan?"

"We weren't on speaking terms."

"Tweek Tweak?"

"Hell nah."

"Craig Tucker?"

"Bingo," I say, watching Cartman's jaw drop.

"No way!" he exclaims, pausing his movements.

"Ugh, don't stop," I whine.

He begins to thrust his hips again. "How the fuck did that happen?" he asks, shock still written all over his face.

"I don't know," I admit with a little laugh. "We grew closer after you and Stan grew away. We were virgins and we decided we'd just lose it to each other."

"Jesus Christ," he snorts. "What a fucking weird story."

"I know, right?" I say, rubbing myself. I moan, feeling my eyebrows draw together. "Faster…"

He quickens his pace. "This is a side of you I never thought I'd see," he gives a choppy chuckle.

I close my eyes, feeling the corners of my lips quirk up. "You're good."

"So I've been told," he says cockily, reaching down and grabbing my dick.

"Mm…" I murmur as he jerks me off. Moments later, I feel that familiar warmth building up in my groin. "Fuck," my breath hitches, lips parting as I let out a soft moan.

I can feel Cartman watching me. I look up at him, breathing heavily. I wonder how many other people have been in my position while lying on this very same bed. It's weird to think about.

"Want me to pull out?" he asks.

"No, it's okay," I say dismissively. "Keep going 'til you're done."

"You sure?"

I nod. "I don't mind a little mess."

He continues to pound me until he comes and my toes curl at the sensation.

"Be right back," I say once he pulls out. I quickly clean off in the bathroom before getting back into bed.

"That was satisfying," I sigh, lying back down.

"Do you always laugh and talk that much during sex?" he asks, running his hand across my stomach.

"Yeah," I admit. "Is it annoying?"

"Nah, I guess it's kind of cute," he says. "Definitely a refreshing change."

"Well, good," I smirk. "People take sex way too seriously."

"True."

"It's all right for it to be fun and funny."

He nods. "You know, when we were younger, I always wondered what it would be like to fuck you."

"Why?" I ask.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I guess I wanted to."

"I always knew you weren't completely straight," I say, turning to glance at him.

"Did you?" he asks.

"Yeah, I mean… Hennifer Lopez," I pause. "Enough said. Lest we forget your big crush on Justin Timberlake… Plus, you always had a thing for dressing in drag."

He grimaces at the mention of his childhood games and I can't help but wonder if he'll be grimacing in the morning.


	5. EC: Sick Jew

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Sorry, boring but necessary chapter :b as always, thank you or reviewing! **

**Eric's POV**

* * *

Kyle let me fuck him last night. I don't know why – probably just because we were both drunk. He was beyond wasted. I mean it. He was falling up the stairs and clinging to me while giggling about nothing in particular. I've had girlfriends like that in the past and they seriously pissed me off, but for some reason, he wasn't pissing me off last night. He's different. He's always been different. I suppose that makes him special. Fucking hell, I sound gay.

When I wake up, he's already in the shower. As he steps out of the bathroom, he is fully dressed in a change of fresh clothing. He offers me an awkward smile and says, "Good morning. How's your head?"

"All right," I say easily. "Yours?"

"Tolerable," he shrugs.

"You were pretty wasted last night," I slowly mention, surprised he isn't hiding away in the darkest corner of the room trying to escape a raging migraine.

"I know," he sighs, shaking his head lightly. "I felt like I was in college again."

"Is that a bad thing?" I wonder, recalling the things he's said about his college years – things that surprised me quite a bit. Before Kyle showed me what he's like in bed, I couldn't really picture it. In my mind, he's always been pretty fuckin' wholesome.

"Well," he pauses. "There were periods in college I don't even remember I was so drunk."

"Christ," I murmur.

"But then there were nights like yesterday," he continues. "Those nights weren't so bad."

"Last night –" I cut myself off, unsure of how to bring up exactly what we did. It's weird. I'm hardly ever speechless.

"Last night we slept together," Kyle states simply, bluntly filling in my blanks with a look of humour. Well, he ain't shy.

"Uh, yeaaah…" I respond slowly.

He takes a step towards my current position on the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. "We can either blame it on our drunken stupidity," he starts, "Or, we can be realistic and say that it was something more than that."

And it's weird. I feel like, with that simple sentence, he's giving me the chance to make my childhood dream a reality. A dream I denied for a long fucking time.

I was in love with this stupid, ginger Jew. Maybe I still am. "What do you feel?" I ask.

"I feel there is potential," he admits with a shrug.

"Yeah," I say. "So, wanna give this a try?"

"Let's do it," he smiles and I can tell that this is going to change not only our vacation – but my entire fucking life.

* * *

After our hangovers melt away, we spend the night at the beach. It's cool and calm. We don't really talk about anything in particular – we just sit in silence and watch the waves. "It's nice here," Kyle says, digging holes into the sand with his bare feet. "I wish I came sooner."

"Well, you're here now," I tell him.

He lets out a sigh. "Yeah, but I spent so long forcing myself to be content with a dull life. I didn't really allow myself to feel anything apart from content with what little I was doing."

"Is that so bad?" I ask.

"It is because, deep down, I think I wanted more for myself," he admits.

"What stopped you, then?"

"I blamed it on work," he says. "I'd tell myself that I was too busy to be worrying about anything – to be worrying about _myself_."

"And you think you've changed?"

He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "Who the fuck knows? I'm just being honest with myself for once... but I hope I've changed."

* * *

We spend the next day shopping and playing the part of two tourists. We return to the hotel and drop our things off in our room before heading down to the bar. "There's Stan and Wendy," I point out.

Kyle grabs my hand as we approach them and puts on a pleasant smile. "Hello," he politely says as we walk past them and I swear, Stan's eyes bugger out of his head at the sight of us holding hands.

Once we're far enough away, Kyle turns to me and laughs. "Did you see his face?"

"Yeah," I snort.

"God, that was immature of me," he says, "but I couldn't help it."

I just smile before asking, "Are you seriously okay with never being his friend again?"

He shrugs. "It's just… overly complicated."

"So un-complicate it," I say simply.

"Stan was always special," Kyle explains. "He's the first person I felt close and comfortable enough to get angry at. You know how it is… with certain people, a fight can be the end… but our friendship was stronger than that. I knew I could get angry with him and everything would be okay the next day."

"And now…?" I urge him to continue.

"I don't know anymore…" he admits. "That last fight was different. I don't know if we can ever get back to where we once were."

"Yeah," I say. "But I mean… look at us. All we did was fight, right? Even now, we fight. If we're capable of having this sort of relationship, I'm sure you'll be able to salvage what's left of your friendship with Stan."

"You think?" he asks.

"Yeah," I shrug.

"I suppose that, in a way, our relationship is similar," he admits. "We were friends, but I felt like I could get angry at you."

"Heh… with us, it was always a different kind of anger, though," I say. He was always completely unrepressed and wildly animalistic. I liked that about him.

"I know," he smiles. "We were really horrible to each other, weren't we?"

I only nod. It's weird to think about that and then think about where we are now. "So," I change the subject, "What do you want to drink tonight?"

"Nothing for me," he says. "My head hurts a bit."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.

"It's just a headache," he shrugs. "It isn't a big deal."

"Still," I reason, "it must've made the day far less enjoyable."

"It was still fun," he assures me.

"Even with the headache?" I snort.

He just chuckles and I order myself a beer – nothing heavy. We chat a bit and make our way back to our room after I'm done the bottle. When we make our way back upstairs, Kyle changes and brushes his teeth. Once he hits the mattress, he falls asleep almost immediately.

* * *

The following morning, I wake up before Kyle. It's something that hasn't yet happened. I shake him awake and he just groans. "I'm tired," he whines, letting out a short cough.

"Still?" I ask. "You're usually up at the ass crack of dawn."

He smiles slightly. "Funny…"

"Seriously, though."

"I'm just really tired lately," he says, eyes still shut.

"Okay," I say, ruffling his messy hair. "I'm going to shower and grab a bite to eat. I'll let you sleep a while longer."

"Bye," he murmurs, sounding only half conscious.

So I take a quick shower before putting a fresh change of clothes on. Afterward I go down to the diner to get some breakfast. When I make my way back to our room, Kyle is finally awake. "Sleep well?" I ask as he sits up in bed.

He nods groggily, stretching his legs out in front of himself.

"Hungry?" I try.

He says, "No."

"You should try and eat something, Jew," I reason. "You didn't eat much yesterday."

"Not hungry," he shrugs.

"Do you feel sick?" I ask.

"I feel like I might be catching a bug or something," he admits, "but it's probably nothing serious."

"Hm," I frown.

He gets out of bed and begins digging for a change of clothing. "I'll shower and we can do something," he offers.

"Do you really feel up to it?"

"Yeah," he says.

* * *

We end up doing a little more shopping – nothing heavy or overly exciting. Kyle's groggy and I can tell. His movements are slow and he looks so unaware. He allows me to drag him to different stores, listening as I chatter away aimlessly. He smiles and laughs at all the right times, but he's still lackluster.

We soon break for lunch and he orders a light salad. "You'll never get your energy back if you don't fucking eat," I say.

"I'm just not hungry," he mumbles, slowly picking up his fork once the waiter places his food in front of him. "Sorry… I guess it's kind of a waste if I don't eat it."

"Don't worry about that," I assure him. Money isn't really an issue for me.

I wonder how long this will last – how long _we'll_ last. I've never been particularly nice to him, even though I've had feelings for him for as long as I can remember. I've been quick to tease him whenever life threw him the short end of the stick, but he's always been the opposite. He'd claim to hate me, but as soon as something bad happened to me, he was the first one to offer me comfort. He's too forgiving. I used to think it was a bad thing, but I suppose it doesn't have to be a bad thing. I feel like I'm waiting for him to snap out of it and remember that I'm a bad person and he's so much purer than me – even with his countless indiscretions.

Kyle picks at his salad while I finish my lunch with ease. "Done?" I ask, knowing he probably won't eat any more.

"Yeah," he says before apologizing again. "Sorry."

"Don't be," I assure once more and we continue to wander through the mall. "Ah, fucking hell... Look at this," I snort, pointing to a shop window at strange souvenirs. There are wooden cocks wearing hula skirts and small figurines similar to bobble-head dolls… only, her head isn't what's bouncing.

"Jesus Christ," he laughs at the bobbling pair of plastic tits.

I smile at his effort to be enthusiastic. "You don't need to try," I tell him. "If you're tired, tell me and we can go back to the hotel."

"All right," he says in a soft and sheepish tone. "I'm sorry I'm such a downer today."

"I don't care," I shrug. Honestly, I don't. I just like being near him. I suppose it doesn't matter what we do. Hell, more gay thoughts.

* * *

We make our way back to the hotel and Kyle is clearly eager to put his comfy clothes back on. I flick the television on as he changes. "Jew?" I say.

"Hm?" he muses questioningly.

"What do you feel like watching?" I ask, surfing through the channels and stopping on a stupid sitcom.

"Whatever you want," he says, sitting on the bed next to me. "Is it weird that I feel kind of cold?" he wonders, shifting closer to me.

"Yeah… It's pretty warm in here," I frown, putting my arm around him and allowing him to lean on me and soak up my body heat. "Maybe you really are coming down with something."

"Hopefully not," he mumbles, coughing lightly. "I do need to get back to work when I get home."

"Well," I state, "if you're sick then your boss will have to suck it up."

Kyle smiles, "I don't think he'd mind. He's very lax."

"That's good, in a way."

He nods his head against my shoulder. "He's the type to pick favourites and he likes me."

"You probably suck up to him," I snort.

"Not at all," he pouts. "I just work hard… He practically had to force me to take time off."

"Really?" I ask. "Why didn't you want a vacation?"

"I didn't think I'd have anything to do," he admits. "That's why I just decided to impulsively take this trip. It was kind of a _now or never_ situation."

"Well, good thing you decided to come," I say. "A lot has happened in the short time we've been here."

"I know," he sighs. "It's still odd to think about… but it's a good thing."

"Yeah," I agree.

"Do you really think Stan and I will be able to fix things?"

"Probably. I'm sure he wants to be your friend again, he's just dumber than a box of rocks."

"True," he snickers.

"Anyway, just take it easy for now," I suggest, putting my hand on his head.

"Mhm…" he mumbles quietly, closing his eyes.

I turn my gaze back towards the television and I soon hear Kyle's breathing even out as he falls asleep against me.


	6. EC: A trip to the hospital

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**I'm on spring break now so I have more time to write my new story ideas :)**

**Eric's POV**

* * *

Kyle spends the next two days taking it easy, lounging in bed and watching television. I've been out and about upon his insistence. He said that just because he is staying, it doesn't mean I had to. I've been ordering room service, but tonight I forced him to get dressed and eat out. He didn't eat or drink much and he was trembling. Now we're on our way back to our hotel room.

"I feel strange," he says softly, latching onto my arm. His grip tightens at the admission.

"Strange?" I raise an eyebrow, glancing down at him.

"Yeah…" he whispers, frowning.

When we arrive back to our room, he slowly makes his way into the bathroom, wordlessly closing the door. I shrug it off until I hear vomiting sounds. Fuckin' gross. "Kahl?" I knock on the door. He coughs, but doesn't reply. "Kahl?" I repeat his name.

"M'fine," he insists slowly.

The door opens a few moments later and he looks pale and clammy. "You don't look fine," I cross my arms. "How's your head?"

"Achy," he groans.

I put my hand on his forehead. "You feel warm," I say.

"Mm…" he mumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Pass me my pajamas…"

I dig his nightclothes out of his bag and help him put them on. His movements are slow and I can tell he's trying to hide how much pain he's really in.

"Kahl," I say his name, "Does it hurt bad?"

"Mm…" he mumbles again, a crease forming in his brow.

"Lie down," I instruct. He does so, curling into himself on the mattress and looking completely miserable. "Maybe you caught something," I suggest. His eyes are open, but he doesn't answer me. He looks like he's only semi-conscious. "Just sleep, then," I murmur. "You'll be fine in the morning."

* * *

Kyle coughed the whole damn night and I didn't get a lick of rest. Though, I'll admit that was partially because I was worried he'd puke in his sleep and drown in his own barf. Suffice to say that didn't happen, but it's almost 2PM now and he won't wake up. I let him sleep in because I thought that was what he needed, but clearly he's sicker than I thought.

"Kahl," I shake him. His skin is clammy and pale and his breath is coming in short. "Kahl, you stupid Jew!"

Still, he doesn't budge – his head just lolls back and forth with each shake. That's when I notice the blood on the pillow. He's been coughing blood. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. My heart begins palpitating. "Oh, fuck my ass," I whisper aloud. I don't hesitate to lift him up, bridal style, and run out of the hotel room. I hold him close as I fly down every flight of stairs. I rush out of the lobby, ignoring every pair of curious eyes as I lay him in the back seat of my car and drive to the nearest hospital.

The drive seems long, even though I know it isn't. My hands are shaking as they grip the wheel and I'm probably driving above the speed limit but I don't care about that. My parking job is shitty, but I don't care about that either. I swing the back door open and carefully lift Kyle out of the car before running into the ER.

"He needs help now," I yell to the man behind the desk.

The doctors take him in right away, but they force me to sit in the waiting room as they run tests. I groan, feeling restless. I down a cup of water, followed by a cup of coffee and then another cup of water. I go to the bathroom and take a long piss before returning back to the waiting room. Each second feels like an hour, but eventually a broad, blond man enters the waiting room with a clipboard.

"Eric Cartman?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah," I murmur miserably.

"I'm Dr. Stotch," he says in a business tone. "I'll be caring for Mr. Broflovski during his stay."

"What's wrong with him?" I ask, dismissing the formalities.

"Your friend has pneumonia," he reveals.

"Oh," I say, somewhat relieved. "That's not bad, right?"

"I'm sorry to say that it's quite the contrary, Sir. In adults, it can become quite serious…" he pauses, staring down at the clipboard.

"Well, what the fuck are you gonna do?" I cross my arms.

"Does he have any pre-existing health conditions?" the doctor asks.

"Uh, I think he's diabetic," I say, recalling the fact that he has one of my kidneys. "Yeah, he is diabetic… Type one… he had kidney failure when we were kids. I gave him one of mine." I don't bother mentioning that I didn't give it up freely, but if I could go back, I probably wouldn't hesitate.

The doctor frowns and there is a crease in his brow. "I see," he murmurs.

"What?" I snap. "He's gonna be okay, right?"

"We can't say for sure. This makes it complicated."

Jesus Christ. "Tsk," I click my tongue. "You're not very helpful."

"My apologies," he doctor smiles sympathetically. "I'm only telling you the facts."

"Can I see him?" I ask.

The doctor nods, leading me down the hallway to a white, sterile smelling room. Kyle is lying there in one of those fucking ugly hospital gowns with a breathing mask over his mouth and nose.

"He's gonna be okay," I tell the doctor, though I'm only trying to convince myself of it. "He… He's been way sicker than this."

"Pneumonia in adults is not to be taken lightly," the doctor says gently. "Especially since he is diabetic."

"How'd he get sick?" I ask.

"Whether bacterial or viral, pneumonia can be caused by a number of things… However, it's often hard to confirm exactly what caused it. It is very possible he had the flu but it turned into pneumonia."

"Then how come I'm fine? We've been together the whole time."

"If you have a strong immune system, it won't affect you. Your friend's immune system is weaker, thus less able to fight off infections. The symptoms may have caused him not to feel hungry, but with diabetic patients, this can be dangerous. This can cause blood sugar levels to rise and fall."

"Tsk," I click my tongue yet again. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, he could have respiratory failure; his lungs could fill up with liquid… Men are more likely to die from pneumonia than women are and the fact that Mr. Broflovski has diabetes makes him three times likelier."

"He'd die?" I ask quietly.

"Don't worry about that, though… We'll do our best. It's typically only in older patients with pre-existing breathing conditions. We'll be monitoring him closely."

"But still… it's possible?"

"Yes…"

"When will he wake up?"

"I can't say for sure, but it won't be tonight… Pneumonia is tiring and he needs his rest. You should go home, Sir. You're free to come back tomorrow, but waiting here won't do you or him any good. Don't neglect your own health just because you're worried about his."

"Fine," I murmur tersely. Without so much as another word, I make my way out of the room and out of the hospital.

* * *

When I get back to the hotel, I drink until I'm numb. At some point in the night, I notice Stan sitting next to me. "Cartman?" he says my name, waving a hand in front of my face.

"What?" I snap.

"Did you hear a word I just said?" he asks.

"No," I admit in a slur. "When'd you get here?"

"Cartman, I've been here for ten minutes…" he says carefully, looking somewhat concerned which I find strange.

"Oh," is all I say.

He looks awkward, like he isn't sure where else to take the conversation. "Yeah… So, why isn't Kyle here with you?" He probably thinks we had a fight of something stupid.

"He's sick," I murmur.

"That sucks," he says lightly, like he doesn't comprehend the severity of the situation.

"No," I seethe, "You don't get it… He's not sick, he's _sick_. He's really fucking sick. I woke up this morning… and he didn't. There was blood… so I took him to a hospital. That's where he is now and he's still not awake."

Stan looks taken aback. "Wh-what happened?" he asks shakily.

"Pneumonia," I mumble. "I wasn't worried at first, but 'parently it's serious when it's in adults and even worse if that adult has a pre-existing health condition."

"Fuck," Stan whispers. "He-he's gonna be okay, right?"

"I don't fucking know," I snap. "They don't know either. They don't know anything." I close my eyes, refusing to think about what would happen if he died. He just became mine. If he died, I wouldn't forgive him.

Stan puts a hand on my shoulder in a gesture of comfort, staying silent. If I was sober, I'd probably tell him to fuck off, but I don't because I'm not sober. I'm drunk as fuck.

I let out a breath. "I love him," I admit. I think I always have. Even after sixteen years of not being friends, and eight years of not seeing him at all, seeing him again caused all those feelings to come flooding back in full force and it feels like they never left.

Stan only nods. "I saw you holding his hand… I could tell you loved him."

"Weird, right?" I ask knowingly.

"Yeah," he admits, "but I can kind of see understand it."

"He wanted you to say sorry," I tell Stan somewhat offhandedly.

"What?" he frowns, raising an eyebrow at me. "Who?"

"Kahl… he wanted you to say you were sorry…" I explain. "He didn't wanna jus' forget an' move on; he wanted to mend things… I think he felt that if you just forgot about the fighting, it'd happen again and you wouldn't be able to fix the friendship you guys once had. It's something you both need to talk about. Me and Kahl… we already spoke about it. Kahl said he was sorry and so did I. That's why we were able to move forward from the stupid fuckin' fighting we did as kids."

Stan's frown deepens, as if it's something he never considered. "Oh…"

I close my eyes, thinking back to the day we all stopped being friends. We were eleven, but even before then our friendship wasn't the same as it was before Kenny bought the farm. School just ended and the three of us just started screaming at each other, letting out our pent up emotions. We threw around the blame. Kyle blamed me for letting him fall and Stan blamed everyone, including himself. So Kenny fell and he got washed down the lake and who the fuck knows where his body is now…? Christ, the whole ordeal was so morbid. I think about it once in a while. I'd like to ask Kenny why he wanted me to let go, but I can't do that. Stan grieved the hardest and he did it openly. Kyle grieved quietly and because he bottled everything up, he's had a hard time moving on.

"You're an idiot," I mumble to Stan.

"I know," he admits quietly. "I've always been dense… really dense."

"Me, too," I snort. "That's why we need Kahl around. He's our moral compass." Of course, it's more than that… _He's_ more than that. I'm just trying to make light of a heavy situation.

"Yeah," Stan murmurs. He knows it's fuckin' true.

"Anyway," I stand up slowly, trying not to stumble, "I'm going to bed."

"Want me to walk with you?" he offers.

"No," I say gruffly.

I make my way back to the hotel room and don't bother changing out of my clothes. My mind grows foggy and I can feel a headache coming on. I lie down and try hard to recall why I drank so much but I even can't seem to remember.


	7. KB: Time does wonders

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for the follows, favourites and reviews :)**

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

All I can see is white. It's blindingly bright and there is a blond figure standing above me. "Hey, Kyle," he says my name in a voice that sounds soft and strange to my ears.

I can't quite make out his face because my eyes are too bleary. "Who…?" I begin to ask, only to break out into a fit of coughs.

"Kyle," he says my name again, his tone gentle and melodic. "It's me… It's Kenny."

Once my coughing subsides, I let out a slow breath. "Are you an angel?" I ask quietly. "Did I die?"

"No," he chuckles somewhat sadly. "No, Kyle… You're not dead. You're in a hospital."

I close my eyes again and swallow harshly.

"You got sick," he tells me.

"I remember," I whisper, rubbing my eyes. When I open them again, I find out that he's right. I am in a hospital. "Kenny?" I look over at the figure, recognizing him as the man I kept seeing at the beach.

"Yeah," he smiles. "It's me."

I feel my cheeks dampen and I realize I've began to cry.

He chuckles sympathetically, wiping my tears away and affectionately touching the top of my head. "I'm really sorry, Kyle," he says softly and I wonder if I'm dreaming.

"Am I gonna die?" I ask weakly.

"No," he says sternly. "Don't even think about that."

"Will I be okay?"

"You're going to be just fine," he whispers.

"Am I?"

"Yeah," he promises.

"Why'd you have to go?" I can't help but ask.

"It's complicated," he smiles somewhat sadly. "I'll tell you someday."

"Will you?"

"I swear."

"Are you real?" I mumble. The questions just keep coming.

"Yeah," he smiles. "I'm just as real as you are."

"Am I real?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, ruffling my hair. "You're just tired… and confused. Butters told me that was a symptom."

Butters? What does he have to do with any of this? Nonetheless, I just murmur, "Oh…"

* * *

When I wake up, I feel incredibly heavy-hearted. Moments later, a blond doctor with a crew cut is standing above me looking relieved. "Hello, Kyle," he smiles. "I see you're awake."

"What…?" I mumble, wiping my wet eyes. "Where is…" I trail off.

"Where is what?" he asks. "Are you all right?"

"Nothing," I mumble. I guess I just dreamt the whole thing.

"I'm Dr. Stotch," he introduces himself. "Kyle, do you know where you are?"

"N-no…" I frown, confused and lightheaded.

"You're in a hospital," he explains gently. "You got very sick."

I suppose that part of the dream was true. "Oh," I close my eyes. "I remember…"

"How are you feeling now?"

"Not great…" I admit. "Where's Cartman?"

"We've called him and told him you woke up," the doctor assures me. "He'll be here shortly."

"Oh."

"He had a hard time leaving you here," the doctor adds.

"What's wrong with me?" I ask.

"You caught pneumonia," he gently informs me.

"I'll be fine, though, right?" I assume somewhat hopefully.

He smiles, "Yes, you should make a full recovery. For a while, we weren't sure… but you're doing much better now. The antibiotics are already working."

"Good… that's good…"

"You won't be leaving the hospital bed for a little while though, so just take it easy," he says. "I'll be back in a bit."

I nod my head lightly, closing my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'm lying here, but soon enough I hear the door open.

"Kahl?" I hear.

I open my eyes and see Cartman standing alongside the doctor. "Hey," I greet him weakly.

"Jesus Christ, Jew," he murmurs, approaching my bedside. "You scared the shit out of me, you know… Fuck."

"Sorry," I smile.

He runs his hand through my hair and says, "Stan came along. I thought I'd tell you before bringing him in, though."

"He came?" I whisper the question weakly. I feel anxious yet ultimately relieved.

"He was really worried when he heard you were in the hospital," Cartman says.

"Oh," I mumble softly.

"Want me to bring him in?"

I nod lightly. "Yeah."

A moment later, Cartman leaves my side and leaves the room to fetch Stan. A moment later they both return. Stan looks somewhat uncomfortable when Cartman leads him in. "You look awful…" he notes.

"I feel it, too…" I admit. He sits on the chair by the bed I'm lying on and looks like he's trying to figure out what it is he wants to say. "Stan…?" I murmur his name.

"I want to apologize," he sighs. "I should've… I'm an idiot. I feel like if I wasn't so fucking stubborn, we might've spoken sooner… I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm sorry, too. It isn't like I tried all that hard, either…"

"I didn't make trying easy. I wouldn't even look at you…"

I simply shrug.

"And honestly," he continues, "I won't lie, if we were still in Colorado, we'd probably still be ignoring one another… but I guess us all being here like this gave us the opportunity to talk again. It was kind of a forced opportunity, but still…"

"I know, Stan," I say softly. "It's fine… Shit happens. I forgive you."

He takes my limp, clammy hand and holds it in his. "You'll be okay."

I smile at that. "I know."

We chat idly after the apologies are over. My replies are slow and quiet, but Stan patiently listens. Soon, Cartman comes back inside and Stan gives us both an odd look. "I still can't believe you two are in a relationship," he admits.

"Neither can I," Cartman snorts.

I listen to them talk, taking comfort in the sounds of their voices though I'm too tired to say anything more.

* * *

Long after visiting hours, I'm awake again. The doctor strolls back inside and asks me how I'm doing. "I'm feeling much better," I say.

"You look it," he smiles. "You've got colour in your cheeks."

"Hey… I've been wondering something," I squint at him.

"What's that?" he chuckles.

"You said your name is Stotch, right?" I inquire slowly and he nods, looking humoured as if he knows exactly what I'm about to ask him. "Uh…" I pause. "This may sound like a weird question, but are you from South Park?"

He nods again. "I am."

"Butters…?" I squint at him again.

He laughs. "Hardly anyone calls me that these days."

I feel my eyes widen. Part of me knew it, but it's still so hard to believe. "So…" I start. "I knew it… I knew it." Butters just chuckles in response and I can't help but ask, "So, do Stan and Cartman know?"

"Eric didn't notice, but Stan did," he says. "I think the last thing on Eric's mind was his old pal Butters. All he wanted to do was make sure you were okay… He's changed a lot since we were little. He had a hard time giving up his kidney to you when you needed it, if I can vaguely recall. Now I think he'd do it freely and without second thought. I never thought I'd see the day where Eric Cartman cared so much about Kyle Broflovski. I suppose time does wonders."

"You've changed a lot, too," I murmur. "You're tall… broad… It's funny, the kids used to pick on you for being so small."

"If only they could see me now," Butters jokes. "We will catch up soon."

"I'd like that…" I say. "You know, a while back I thought I saw Kenny as well. I feel like… if Kenny was still alive and if Kenny grew up, he would have looked just like that man I saw. I was so fucking sure… but I realize how silly that is. The dead don't come back, right?"

Butters smiles somewhat sadly, but he not a word leaves his mouth. "Do you think you'll be able to eat?" he asks.

"I think so," I tell him and he nods, going to fetch a nurse.

It's all so strange. It barely feels real. First, I met Cartman at the airport. Then I met Stan at the hotel. Now it's Butters, though the name Butters hardly suits him anymore. He's no longer the nerdy little kid. If I were to be stereotypical, I'd say he looks like a sturdy-bodied drill sergeant. I suppose he's right about one thing – time really does do wonders. We're all here in the same place at the same time and part of me can't help but think it might mean something.


	8. KM: They're here

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**As always, thanks! **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

They're here. They're fucking here.

I don't know what Kyle is doing in Hawaii and least of all with Eric Cartman, but I saw them just the other week. I tried to veer away, but I bumped into Kyle mere minutes later! I think he recognized me. Somehow, he fucking knew who I was. I always knew that day would come. I just didn't know it would come so soon and I definitely didn't think it would have been forced upon me like this… I suppose it's been a long time since I left them, but it doesn't feel as long as it has been. When I found myself standing in front of Kyle, it felt like we hadn't spent any time apart. It felt like we were kids again and I wanted to reach forward and fucking hug him, but I didn't. I told him I never met him before and we parted ways. I've had knots in my stomach ever since then. Kyle looked the way I pictured him to be in my mind each time I thought of him, but Eric changed a lot. He's no longer that morbidly obese little kid. The two of them looked close and I took comfort in knowing my death didn't break them apart. Or perhaps it did, but they mended their friendship. Nonetheless, it's nice to see them looking happy... especially in the company of each other. I never thought I'd see the day. Things really do change. Part of me wishes I was around to see it all happen.

"What's wrong?" Butters asked when I returned home from seeing them.

"Nothing," I said, forcing a smile. Butters just smiled in return, rubbing my shoulder. He probably knew I was lying, but he never pries. I stood on my tip toes and pecked him on the lips. "Imagine," I started, "what our old friends would think if they knew we were together?"

Butters responded by saying, "Well, they'd probably find it pretty darn strange!"

* * *

It was purely impulse. That's why I am where I am today. Some might think it's cruel of me. I can't disagree with that, but I swear I have my reasons. Those reasons aren't derived from some secret sort of hatred towards my old friends; it's my deep seeded hatred towards South Park. South Park is a black hole – it'll kill you if you aren't careful. I knew I'd end up being one of the people that damn town swallowed whole if I didn't leave.

I loved my friends. I still hold love for them, even now. I knew they would have tried to drag me back there and I don't blame them. I was ten years old – a child. Children aren't really supposed to be independent. Usually parents don't let their children be independent. Then again, we were always a little different than most kids. For one thing, we were smarter.

Butters had just moved to Hawaii months before I fell to my _death_. When I was hanging off that bridge, I remembered Hawaii. I remembered falling down the waterfall and that's where I found myself. I fucking loved that place, despite everything that happened there. So, I decided if I survived the fall, I'd make it my final destination. I needed an out and I knew the only way I would be able to stay gone was to pretend I _was_ gone. So Kenny McCormick died and his funeral took place around an empty grave. I had planned to eventually tell them I was okay and I was alive, I just didn't know when the right time would be. As more and more time passed, it got harder. I began to think I'd never tell them, but yesterday Butters came home with news. It was news that made my heart palpitate and I knew I had to be honest.

"How was work?" I had called after hearing the front door open. Butters appeared around the corner, smiling somewhat sadly. "What happened?" I immediately asked.

"A patient named Kyle Broflovski was admitted today," he said softly and I just frowned. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" he asked expectantly. "You don't look at all surprised to find out Kyle is in Hawaii."

"I knew he was here…" I admitted. "I saw him with Eric just days ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd make me confront them and once I was given the opportunity I found it really fucking hard," I sighed. "I saw him on the beach. He asked if he knew me. I said he probably didn't and that was that."

"He's sick, Kenny…" Butters revealed and I just closed my eyes, shaking my head. I was disappointed with myself. "What are you doing?" he then asked.

"Brooding," I mumbled, rubbing my forehead.

"It doesn't suit you," he said. "You should go see him."

And so I did. Kyle was delirious the whole time, but he remembered me. He remembered seeing that mystery blond guy on the beach. He started crying, and I'm not sure if it was because of me or because he felt so sick…

I wonder if he'll remember I went to see him or if he'll forget the entire thing. Maybe he'll simply write it off as a dream. It seems like the reasonable thing to do – after all, the dead don't just come back to life. Once you've gotten so used to the idea of someone being gone, it would probably take a little more than a dreamlike visit to convince you otherwise.

* * *

It's now a new day and I decide to go and see him once more. I'm somewhat hesitant because I know he'll be more coherent. Maybe he'll scream like Butters did when he first saw me on his doorstep after hearing about my so-called death. He'll ask questions and this time he'll expect answers.

"I can't do this," I mumble.

"Sure, you can," Butters says, poking me in the back with his pen and urging me forward. "If you don't, Kyle will get better and he'll go home and you'll regret this for the rest of your life."

"I know," I pout.

"He wants to see you," he says. "He told me himself."

"Did he?" I ask.

Butters nods his head. "So, go in there and tell him you're alive and well. Tell him you're sorry and that, if he'll have it, you want to be a part of his life again. Finally be honest with your friends. It's been sixteen years, but you're still on their minds. I can tell."

I take a deep breath before saying, "All right, let's do it."

"Okay," Butters smiles.

I wait outside as he walks into the hospital room. "Kyle," he starts as I hover in the hallway, "You have another visitor."

"Who?" I hear Kyle ask.

A second later, Butters waves me inside. I saunter through the door, feeling sheepish and nervous. "Hey," I say with a timid smile. "I don't know if you remember, but I came to visit you when you were first admitted... you were kind of delirious though."

His lips part, "No…"

"Yes," I say.

His eyes are wide. "That… That was real?"

"Yeah," I chuckle.

"I thought I was dreaming…" he whispers.

"No," I say softly, approaching his bedside. "It was real."

I hear butters leave the room a moment later, closing the door behind him and giving Kyle and me a moment of privacy. "Kenny…" he murmurs my name before covering his eyes with a shaky hand. His lower lip trembles as he lets out a breath.

"I'm really fucking sorry," I whisper.

"I don't understand," he says in a wet voice. "I went to your funeral…"

"I never died, Kyle… I just… disappeared."

"Why?" he asks, lowering his hand and wiping his tear-stained cheeks. "Why wouldn't you tell us…?"

"I guess I was sad," I admit. "Every abused kid dreams of running away and finding some sort of sanctuary… but I was given that opportunity and suddenly it wasn't just a dream. I had the opportunity to make my dream a reality. Sure, I knew I might not have survived the fall but I was desperate and willing to take the chance. You know me… I'm too reckless, too impulsive. South Park had nothing to offer me so I took a risk. I told Eric to let me fall and he did. I was washed away, but I lived. I wound up in Denver and I ran. I backpacked until I was where I wanted to be."

"You were ten years old…" he reasons quietly.

"It was quite the adventure," I muse. "When given the chance, even a poor child is capable of impressive things. You should know this as well as me. After all, we did have quite a lot of crazy adventures."

"Tell me about it?" he requests.

"All right," I smile softly and began regaling Kyle with the tale of how I arrived in Hawaii. I spent three years on the road and when I welcomed my teenage years I claimed to be older than I was. It was easy to get jobs at cheap restaurants because everyone loves an employee they can pay under the table. Since child labour is frowned upon, I usually worked in the back, but I didn't mind. A job was a job. Money was money. Homeless shelters were where I crashed most nights and I'd bum rides after saving enough money then I'd do it all again in the next town. I was fourteen by the time I saved up enough money for a one way plane ticket; though I lied about my age to almost everyone I met. I broke the law quite a few times, too. How else would I have been able to get a passport? But hey. I knew what I wanted and I was going to get it. I made it my first priority to find Butters. He screamed to the top of his lungs when I arrived on his doorstep and all I could do was assume he heard of my _death_. He was beyond understanding and sympathetic about the entire ordeal. I knew he would be and I suppose that's why I wanted to find him. "It was selfish, I suppose," I admit after the story is finished. "I did a lot of illegal things to get where I am today."

"No," Kyle says softly. "Perhaps I'm the selfish one for wishing you would've stayed. If you were unhappy, then you had no reason to stay behind and suffer for our sake... You should write a book."

"Someday, maybe," I say, smiling. "Thanks, Kyle. I mean it."

"What for?" he asks.

"For being so fucking understanding… It can't have been easy."

"It wasn't," he says. "It was really hard… but you're happy, right?"

"I'm really happy," I tell him. "Really fucking happy."

"Then so am I," he says softly, turning his head to the side and letting out a fit of coughs.

"How do you think Stan and Eric will take it?" I ask.

"Cartman will play it cool…" he says knowingly. "Stan will probably get pretty emotional, though."

"Heh… Probably," I agree. I'll get Butters to call them down. Then we can all be together for the first time since we were little kids. How weird will that be? Pretty fucking weird, I think. But in a good way.


	9. KB: Together again

**South Park © Matt & Trey. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

Kenny and I spend the next while reconnecting and, for some reason, it feels like we didn't spend the last sixteen years apart. For some reason, I'm not as shocked as I thought I would be. My mind is blown, but it's still intact.

As wonderful as it all seems, I know things will eventually return to normal. Kenny will stay here with our old friend Butters. Cartman will travel, avoiding South Park like the plague it is. I'll return to South Park with Stan, and we'll attempt to rekindle a once forgotten friendship. I'll continue working a mundane office job and I'll return home to my little apartment. There won't be anyone waiting for me. I'll go to sleep alone and I'll wake up alone. I'll get up, get dressed, and do it all again… However, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll be able to make some changes. I think Hawaii has shown and taught me that there's more to life than what I once thought. I need to start taking advantage of my newfound optimism.

"I honestly expected a more scandalous story," I tell Kenny with a sheepish smile.

"I know," he chuckles. "My escape wasn't nearly as exciting as I like to think it was, and it's the same with my reasons for running away. Sorry I didn't tell you guys sooner. As more time passed, it got harder."

Before I can reply, the door opens and Cartman and Stan come piling into the little room. Stan is smiling as if he's just witnessed a miracle and Cartman looks the same.

"Kenny McCormick," he sighs, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd see the day…"

Kenny just grins in response before saying, "Eric Cartman and Stan Marsh. Nice to see you guys again."

"Butters filled us in on the details," Stan smiles as the two of them approach my bedside.

We are all here together in this tiny white room. We are all here together for the first time since we were ten years old.

I can tell they are all thinking the exact same thing.

"Better not be moving in on my propertah," Cartman says.

"I'm not your property," I argue weakly.

"Boyfriend, property… same thing," he shrugs dismissively, causing me to roll my eyes. He's lucky I don't take anything he says too seriously, otherwise I'd be offended.

"Boyfriend?" Kenny shouts in disbelief.

"Yeah, apparently these two are a thing now," Stan adds.

"Jesus Christ… What has the world come to," Kenny jokes.

"I asked myself the same thing!"

"Okay, okay," I cut in dryly. "It's not that shocking."

"It sort of is…" Kenny reasons. "Oh well, I guess the fact that I'm dating Butters is pretty weird, too."

"What?" the three of us deadpan in unison and Kenny just nods.

"So, which one of you takes it up the ass?" Cartman asks and I have to roll my eyes at the crude and blunt question.

"Me," Kenny says proudly.

"Seriously?" Cartman mumbles in disbelief.

"For me to top Butters would be like a mouse mounting a cat," he snickers. "Then again, some people like that. Either way, I like bottoming."

"All right then…" Cartman murmurs. "Our little Butters sure grew up."

"He got… _big_," Kenny hints perversely, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, dude," Stan grimaces and Kenny just cackles lecherously. I suppose his dirty mind is one thing that has stayed the same. It's somewhat comforting.

* * *

After what has probably been one of the best days of my life, Kenny and Stan head out; however, Cartman stays behind. Once they're gone, he lies down next to me on the hospital cot. "Think we'll stay together after leaving Hawaii?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," I say. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Is this just some… holiday fling? I mean… it's weird and sudden, isn't it?"

"Sure," I agree, "but there's nothing wrong with that. This isn't just another fling. Why would you think that?"

"Because you've had a lot of flings in the past," he mentions.

"Yeah," I admit, "but you're not a fling, so don't worry." I give him a reassuring smile.

"Well," he states, playing with my hair, "I guess I'll be making a hell of a lot more trips to South Park now."

"Good," I murmur, coughing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I say, "Just lie with me for a little while."

And he does so.

* * *

When I wake up, he's gone and I assume visiting hours are over. Butters soon strolls through the door at a brisk pace. "How was your day?" he asks.

"Really nice."

"That's good," he says, smiling.

"It doesn't even feel real," I chuckle. I'm not used to feeling so happy. It doesn't feel normal. Normal, for me, would be waking up and finding out this was all an elaborate dream. It would be waking up and finding out that I'm still in South Park, Stan still ignores me, Cartman is who-knows-where and Kenny is still dead… I keep having to remind myself that this isn't just a dream and that it's real.

"I can tell you for certain that it is reality," Butters chuckles, proceeding to take my temperature and check my heart rate.

"Ben," I whisper, coughing lightly.

"What's that?" Butters asks.

"A bartender told me that… when I asked about Kenny," I say weakly, "only… she said Ben…"

"Oh," Butters chuckles, "She's not good with names. We've told her about ten times – Ken and Leo, but she keeps calling us Ben and Leon."

"Leo…" I say the name and it feels strange on my tongue, but I suppose the name Butters wouldn't suit a man of his stature. Leopold Stotch… No. I suppose he'll always be Butters to me.

"Yeah, no one really calls me Butters around here. Just Kenny… and you, Stan and Eric I suppose."

"Do you mind it?"

"Not at all," he says softly. "It gives me a pleasant sort of nostalgia. Even though they weren't the best years of my life, part of me still misses it."

"It's… really good to see you again," I force a smile.

"It's good to see you, too," he returns the smile.

"When will I be able to leave here?" I ask.

"Probably within the week," he says. "Eric called your work and informed them that you got ill, so you don't need to worry about going back until you're feeling one hundred percent."

I suppose everything is going to work out and I should stop worrying for once in my life.


	10. EC: Goodbyes

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**So, thank you all for reviewing and favoriting :) here's the second last chapter! **

**Eric's POV**

* * *

So fuckin' Butters is Kyle's doctor. I find that so damn weird. I didn't even recognize him, even after he introduced himself and I heard his last name. Stotch. It still didn't register until Stan pointed it out.

"I'm Dr. Stotch," Butters introduced himself to Stan.

Stan's eyes immediately narrowed. "Butters…" he said slowly and suspiciously.

"Yeah," Butters laughed. "You got me."

Hawaii really is full of surprises. Some good and some bad.

Kyle is recovering. For a while, I wasn't sure he would.

Kenny is alive, too.

When Stan and I went to visit Kyle yesterday, Butters informed us that Kyle was with a visitor. I raised an eyebrow and asked who the hell would be visiting Kyle. Who else in Hawaii knew Kyle apart from Stan, Butters and me?

"Kenny," is all he said. He had a knowing little smile on his face.

Obviously, I had questions. Butters did his best to answer them and when I was finally satisfied, Stan and I strode right is. There Kenny was – alive and well. I immediately recognized him as the man Kyle kept insisting looked like Kenny. I guess he was right about that, though I will never in a million years understand how he recognized someone he hadn't seen in sixteen years.

I guess that's just the magic of this damn island. I'll be taking Kyle home soon. Stan will be flying with us. We'll be leaving Kenny and Butters behind, but this won't be goodbye. We'll see them again someday.

* * *

Kyle leaves the hospital today. I pick him up and Butters and Kenny offer to let us stay our last night at their place. "It'd allow me to keep an eye on him," Butters adds.

"What do you think, Kahl?" I ask, turning to face the Jew.

"That'd be nice," he smiles. He's still a bit sick looking and he's still coughing up a storm, but he is definitely getting some of his color back… Or, well, as much color as his natural paleness will allow.

And so the four of us make our way to the Stotch-McCormick house.

"I still feel like I'm dreaming," Kyle says softly.

"You're not," I promise.

"I'm not used to being so happy," he admits and it makes me feel piteous towards him. What a sad and grossly mundane life he must be living back in South Park.

"Well," I start, "you better get used to it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'll take you on a shit-ton of trips and if Stan wanders back into his shell, I'll come and kick him in the nuts for yah."

"Okay," he chuckles. "Deal."

Soon, we arrive at Kenny and Butters' home. It's large, which I find odd. I used to laugh at Kenny for being poor, but he's doin' all right now.

I help Kyle out of the car and on the walk inside.

"I can stand on my own, Cartman," he says, smiling.

"Call me by my first name…"

"All right, _Eric_, I can walk on my own," he repeats pointedly.

I just roll my eyes.

"Pretty home," he says once we walk inside.

"Thanks," Butters grins. "We'll show you around." He throws an arm over Kenny's shoulder, pulling him closer. It makes me chuckle. I can recall what Kenny said about a mouse topping a cat. I guess that's what it'd be like.

"How tall are you, Kinny?" I ask.

"Five foot seven."

"Right on," I snort. "At least you're an inch taller than Kahl."

"Being shorter isn't a bad thing!" he nudges me.

"So, what about you, Butters? Are you like six feet?" I continue, ignoring Kyle's complaint.

"Six foot one…" he says and Kenny nods along. They proceed to give us the grand tour before showing us the guest room we'll be staying in. "We'll leave you guys to get settled in," Butters says. "You can come downstairs when you're ready and we'll eat."

* * *

When Kyle and I make our way into the kitchen, we find Butters chopping greens on a cutting board and Kenny standing in front of the stove. "Kinny's like a cute little wife," I snicker quietly.

Kyle shakes his head at me, but he's smiling nonetheless.

"Hey, guys," Kenny grins after noticing us standing in the doorway.

"You guys cook?" I ask.

"Yeah, Butters is teaching me," Kenny says. "He's good!"

"Before medical school, I was considering culinary," Butters admits. "Though now, I can't imagine doing anything apart from what I do now."

"What do you do, Kenny?" Kyle asks.

Kenny smiles somewhat sheepishly. "Nothing as great or high paying as Butters," he says. "I write for a local paper."

"That's still impressive," Kyle praises.

"I know, right?" Butters cuts in, grinning Kenny. "I keep telling him it's something to be proud of, but he just keeps comparing his income to mine."

"Butters pays all the bills," Kenny murmurs. "I can hardly afford to help."

Butters rolls his eyes. "I don't mind."

"You're like my sugar daddy," Kenny snickers. "I can only do so much without formal education. After I _died_, that was the end of my schooling."

"You only have a fourth grade education?" I ask, surprised.

Kenny nods shamelessly. "That doesn't make me an idiot, though. I'm more self-taught," he insists.

"That's great," Kyle cuts in. "Most people don't have the motivation to teach themselves much of anything."

Butters smiles at Kenny, nodding along to everything Kyle is saying.

* * *

After a fancy dinner, Kenny takes Kyle into the living room to chat about things that are probably of no interest to me. They're probably going to talk about cooking and shopping. Nah, I'm kidding.

Butters and I stand in the kitchen and he offers me a drink. "What do you have?" I ask.

"Whisky, scotch, caramel vodka," he chuckles.

"Caramel? Ew," I snort. "I'll have whisky."

He nods, pouring me a glass before pouring himself one.

"Man, I was such an asshole to you," I snort, remembering all the shit I did to him when we were kids.

"That's all right," he shrugs. "I don't expect an apology."

"Well, good, because you ain't getting one," I laugh, taking a drink.

He laughs along with me, shaking his head. "That's fine. We were all cruel children. Even though I was at the receiving end of a lot of it, I was also at the giving end. I made fun of Kyle's diabetes on more than one occasion."

"I remember," I say. "Funny that you ended up being his doctor, huh?"

"Yeah, it really is."

But maybe this is how everything was supposed to turn out. Maybe things happen for a reason and life isn't just some random coincidental event.

* * *

After a night of simple entertainment, Butters and Kenny drive Kyle and me to a café. We meet up with Stan, Wendy and their annoying looking kids. We all have coffee and breakfast before heading to the airport. Since we spent an extra day here thanks to Kyle's trip to the hospital, we get to return to fly home with the Marsh family. Joy.

"I swear to God if those kids are loud during the trip I'll throw them out a window," I whisper to Kyle.

"I hope you don't ever want children of your own," he shakes his head at me.

"I definitely don't," I grimace, hoping Kyle doesn't want any either. If so, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

"Kyle," Wendy smiles, rocking a baby back and forth in her arms, "I'm really glad to see you're all right."

"Thanks," Kyle smiles back politely.

They proceed to introduce us to their children, not that I really give a damn but Kyle is chattering away to them in a cutesy voice. "Hello, there," he says to the baby, who is holding his finger in its fat, little hand. He'd probably be a good parent. If the time ever does come, then maybe he'll be able to change my mind about not wanting them. He'd probably be a good enough parent for the both of us and be able to teach me a thing or two about raising a kid… But like hell I'm gonna think about that shit right now.

"We'll be boarding soon," Stan announces.

"Ugh," Kenny groans. "This is so sad…"

"Aw, it won't be goodbye forever," Kyle promises.

"Yeah," I nod. "We'll see you again next summer, if not sooner."

"Promise we'll all stay in touch," Kenny says. "I mean it." He gives Stan, Kyle and I all pointed looks.

"Of course," Kyle laughs. "Now that we have you back, we're not going to let you slip away again."

It's a promise I'm sure we'll all be able to keep.

After many hugs and a tearful goodbye, we board the airplane. We watch the island shrink and the clouds get closer. The flight attendant smiles and says, "Warm nuts?"

I can't help but crack up. "Warm nuts!" I repeat with a cackle and she looks ultimately confused.

Stan and Wendy roll their eyes at me and Kyle politely says, "No, thank you."

"Warm nuts…" I laugh some more.

"You're such a child," he says, lightly nudging my shoulder.

"C'mon," I reason, "That was fuckin' funny."

"Cartman," Stan groans.

"Language, please, Eric," Wendy says softly, affectionately playing with her daughter's hair. "I don't want my children picking up any of your filthy habits."

"Ah, come on," I snort. "They won't stay wholesome forever. No kid does. Remember what we were like? Hell, Wendy. You were no exception."

Stan rubs his temples and Kyle just sighs, choosing not to add his two cents for once.

A moment later Stan and Wendy's baby starts crying and I can feel my teeth clench. "Oh, no," Wendy coos. "Is someone hungry?" Then she whips one of her tits out.

"Whoa there," I shout. "What the hell are you doing?" She raises an eyebrow at me as if I'm the one being an exhibitionist. Stan and Kyle don't look at all phased. "Are we all going to pretend this isn't happening?" I ask as the baby starts sucking on her boob.

"Cartman, don't be an idiot," Kyle says warily while Stan rubs his temples. "She's breastfeeding."

"Does she have to do it in front of everyone?" I mutter.

Kyle shakes his head at me. "There's nothing remotely sexual about feeding a child, so settle down."

"Precisely. Thank you, Kyle," Wendy says and I can see I've lost this round. "Excited to be getting back to work?" she asks Stan and Kyle with a little smile.

"No," Stan says distastefully.

"It'll be weird to be back to such a dull schedule after so much excitement," Kyle chuckles.

"You've had enough excitement for a lifetime," I add. "Especially with getting sick and whatnot."

"Yeah," he sighs, "but I actually don't really regret any of it – even that part, bad as it was."

I get that. I suppose some good came out of it. Kyle got sick and Stan and Kenny didn't hesitate to be at his side. I didn't hesitate either. It's funny how it all happened. It was a life changing experience for every one of us.

Hawaii really was a fucking crazy ride. We'll be talking about this for years to come. I can almost see it.


	11. KB: Epilogue

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Hope you all enjoyed (: **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

So Hawaii came and Hawaii went.

Ike picked me up at the airport with a grin on his face and I could tell he was full of questions, especially after seeing Eric walking alongside me. "I'll call you, yeah?" he said, holding my hand in his.

"Yeah," I smiled.

He leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the lips and nothing more. I think he probably felt somewhat uncomfortable with Ike a few feet away watching the whole scene.

"So," Ike smirked after Eric left. "What the fuck happened in Hawaii? Clearly whatever happened in Hawaii did not stay in Hawaii."

"Yeah," I chuckled. "You can say that again."

After an intense Q and A, Ike simply smiled. "You seem different," he noted. "Happier... lighter, too."

"I guess I am different," I said, and it was as though I was realizing it for the first time. Hawaii really did change me.

"Did you find yourself?" Ike asked.

"I suppose I did."

So much happened in such a short amount of time, but I think it's safe to say I found a lot more than myself in Hawaii. I found Kenny, too. In a way, the four of us all found each other. Finally.

* * *

As promised, Eric called me that night. He said he'd be back in South Park on the weekend and I told him I'd be waiting until then. I took the rest of the week off, thanks to Eric's persuasive words to my generous boss. My cough has since subsided and I've gotten my energy back. All in all, I'm feeling much better and just in time.

Tonight is Friday. Eric returned to South Park just hours ago and we had dinner with my family.

My mom still hates him and so does my dad. I guess years and years of Jew jokes put him on their shit list for good. That probably won't change, but they were still willing to accept him nonetheless. "Well, if you're happy…" my mother trailed off warily.

I could tell Eric was holding his tongue and trying damn hard not to give them even more reasons to hate him. He even ate kosher without complaint and complimented my mom on how great it all tasted. I think Ike got a good chuckle out of the whole affair.

"That was brutal," Eric murmurs once we arrive back at my apartment.

"It wasn't so bad," I say. "You did better than I thought you would do."

"Gee, thanks," he snorts. "Do I get a reward?"

"Well, you did behave," I say coyly.

Without another word, he gently pushes me onto the bed, straddling my hips. His tongue makes its way into my mouth as he begins to unbutton my jeans. He breaks the kiss then pulls my jeans off with seasoned ease.

I start to bend over but he stops me. "This way," he says, touching my spine, "lie on your back. I like being able to see your face."

"All right," I smile softly. It's the first time I've heard someone say that to me. "Mm…"

"When do you go back to work?" he asks, lubing up before plowing in.

"Tomorrow," I sigh.

"Nine to five?" he guesses, keeping up his steady rhythm.

"Yep."

"I'll pick you up and we can get dinner," he suggests.

"Okay, it's a date."

And we continue to converse about completely random and off-topic things as we fuck.

* * *

In the morning, Eric drives me to the office. It will be my first day of work since my vacation and I'm actually a little eager to get back on track. I'm excited to see what happens next in my life – with Eric and with Stan as well.

I won't let things go back to the way they used to be. Not now. I'm no longer going to accept this constant state of mechanical boredom.

"Excited to be back here?" Eric asks once he pulls in front of the office doors.

"Oddly, I am," I admit.

"Weirdo," he says good-naturedly, leaning forward and pressing his lips firmly to mine.

I smile once he draws back.

"Pick you up at 5?"

"Yes," I nod, getting out of the car and entering the building lobby. I get in the elevator and allow my mind to wander for a few minutes.

I'll make positive changes. I'll make plans with Ike and we'll talk about the good things. I'll get coffee with Stan. I'll visit my parents more. They'll ask about work and they'll ask about Eric. I'll tell them what they want to hear. I'll visit Eric and Eric will visit me. He'll make Jew jokes and I'll roll my eyes. Perhaps we'll go on a double date with Stan and Wendy. Eric and I will return back to my apartment after a pleasant night out, where we'll likely proceed to fuck each other's brains out. With the magic of the internet, I'll talk with Butters and Kenny. We'll reminisce about the old times and the even older times, and then we'll talk about the future. Time will pass, and we'll create new memories to replace the sixteen years we all spent apart.

Things will move forward and this time, I'll happily let it happen. I won't get scared and I won't complain. I won't allow myself to grow numb and content with emptiness. I'll take advantage of this newfound optimism and I'll realize I have a hell of a life.

The elevator bell dings and the doors open, snapping me out of my trance. "Good morning," Stan smiles as I step out.

"Good morning," I reply, returning the smile before strolling into my office and getting ready for what will surely be yet another busy day.

Though we said goodbye to Hawaii for the time being, we didn't say goodbye to everything the island offered us – Old friendships, new relationships, and some damn sweet memories.

Kenny, Eric, Stan and myself. Hell, even Butters…

We were all there.

For the first time in a long time, we were all there.

**Fin.**


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